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BURGUNDY : THE 
SPLENDID DUCHY 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
IMPRESSIONS OF PROVENCE. FOOLSCAP QUARTOj 12/6 NET 
SONGS OF OLD FRANCE. CROWN 8vO. 6/- NET 
LONDON : FRANCIS GRIFFITHS 




MONT BEUVRAY 



Froiitispiece\ 



BURGUNDY : THE 
SPLENDID DUCHY. 

STUDIES AND SKETCHES IN SOUTH BURGUNDY 



BY 

PERCY ALLEN 

AUTHOR OF "impressions OF PROVENCE " ETC 



Fully illustrated with eight water-colour and 85 line drawings 
by Miss Marjorie Nash 



NEW YORK 
JAMBS POTT & COMPANY 




/ ■ 



TO M. 

TANT L VAUT, the Virgin name, 
Five hundred years ago, 
On stately hall and tower aflame, 
Blazoned in gold, bade all acclaim 
Her worth in high Rochepot. 

Here above London's roar I sit. 
To watch the splendour flow 
O'er myriad roof-trees glory-lit, 
And read, — with golden fingers writ — 
A sunset's TANT L VAUT. 

Darkness and stars begin to be, 
Light leaves the world below; 
Turning, a gracious form I see. 
And vesper music wakes in me — 
Ma deboinaire, tr^s doulce amie, 
Seule Etoile, TANT L VAUT. 



PREFACE 

I have to thank very cordially my friend, Monsieur Francois Fertiault, 
for his kindness in permitting me to make use of the valuable material 
comprised in his charming books upon rural Burgundy; and I have also to 
thank M. A. de Charmasse and his publisher, M. Dejussieu, of Autun, for 
placing at my disposal the information contained in that author's Precis 
Historique to " Autun et ses Monuments " and in the archeological portion 
of the same work, written by the late M. H. de Fontenay, a book which 1 
recommend to those who wish to study fully the stones of that interesting 
city. 

I have also to acknowledge the kindness of Mm. Mame & Fils, of Tours, 
in granting permission to translate the Burgundian legends, " Le Creux du 
Diable," "Le Puits de St. Martin," and "L'Abbaye de St®- Marguerite," by 

the late Abb^ B , published by that house : also the courtesy of M. 

Gabriel Hanotaux, of the French Academy, and of his publishers, Messrs. 
Hachette, of Paris, in permitting the reproduction of a portrait of Philippe 
le Bon (p. 191) from his recent work on Jeanne d'Arc. My thanks are due, 
too, to M. Perrault-Dabot, who kindly allows me to make use of the engrav- 
ing of Cluny (p, 72) from his work " L'Art en Bourgogne." 

If the support given to this volume on South Burgundy justifies me in 
doing so, I hope, before very long, to follow it by a second, dealing with the 
northern part of the duchy. 

Among the works consulted in writing this book are the following : — 

LIST OF WORKS CONSULTED 

THE DATES REFER TO THE EDITION MADE USE OF 

Oliver de la Marche " M6moires " 1819 

Olivier de la Marche " Le Chevalier d^libere." 1842 

C. R. de Caumont de la Force " Histoire secrete de la Bourgogne " 1694 

Brugiere de Barante " Histoire des Dues de Bourgogne de la 

Maison de Valois " 1825-6 

Ernest Petit ... " Histoire des Dues de Bourgogne, de la Race Capetienne " 

9 vols 1835-1905 



VIU 



LIST OF WORKS 



Dom Urbain Plancher 
Philippe de Comines ... 
Claude Courtepee ... 
Claude Court6pee ... . 

A. Kleinclausz 

A. Kleinclausz 

Francis Miltoun 



" Histoire G^nerale de la Bourgogne." 4 vols. 1739-81 

" Chroniques," etc. 5 vols. 

, "Voyages en Bourgogne " 1905 

" Description du Duch6 de Bourgogne " 1775-85 

"Histoire de la Bourgogne." 1909 

"Regions de la France; La Bourgogne" 

... " Castles and Chateaux of Old Burgundy " 1909 



Sir G. F. Duckett (Bart.). .."Abbey of Cluny" ; 1839 "Charters and Records " iJ 



P. Lorrain 

J. Pignot 

A. Penjon 

Cistercian Monk ... 

H. Collins 

M. T. Ratisbonne 
G. Chevallier 
Frangois Fertiault 
Francois Fertiault 
Frangois Fertiault 
Frangois Fertiault 
Frangois Fertiault 
A. Perrault-Dabot 
A. Perrault-Dabot 
P. G. Hamerton 
P. G. Hamerton 
H. de Fontenay 

and 
A. de Charmasse 
Joseph Dechelette 
Joseph Dechelette 
Alphonse Germain 

M. L'Abbe B 

M. L'Abbe B 

Lettres d'Abailard 
;Matthew Arnold's 

Jules Baux 

Brou " 
Camille Jullian 
Camille Jullian 
Camille Jullian ... 
romaine." 
S. Cambray 

Lamartine 

Lamartine 

Michelet 

Viollet-le-Duc ... 



" Essai Historique sur L'Abbaye de Cluny " 

" Histoire de L'Ordre de Cluny " 3 vols. 

"Cluny; La Ville et L'Abbaye" 

"A Concise History of the Cistercian Order " 

" The Cistercian Fathers " 

... " Histoire de Saint Bernard " 

" Histoire de St. Bernard " 

"Rimes Bourguignonnes. " 

" Histoire d'un Chant Populaire Bourguignon " 

"En Bourgogne; Rdcits Villageois " 

" Une Noce d'Autrefois en Bourgogne " 

"Le Cher Petit Pays" 

" L'Art en Bourgogne " 

" Le Patois Bourguignon " 

" Round my House " 

"The Mount" 

"Autun et ses Monument^ " 

" Autun et ses Monuments, Precis Historique '-' 

"Guide des Monuments D'Autun " 

" L'Oppidum de Bibracte " 

" Les Neerlandais en Bourgogne " 

"Legendes Bourguignonnes " 

" Tebsima " 

et d'Heloise; Nouveau receuil, etc 

Poems 

" Richesses Historiques et Archeologiques sur L'Eglise de 



" Tableau sommaire de la 



"Vercingetorix " 

" Histoire de Gaule " 
Gaule sous la domination 



1839. 
1868 

1852 
1843 



1892 
1903 
1897 



1897 



1907 

1909 
1872 
1872 
1720 
188s 

1844. 
1902 



"Lamartine; A Study" 1890 

"Confidences" ,, 1849 

Le Tailleur de Pierre de Saint Point" „ 1851 
"Histoire de France" 

" Dictionnaire Raisonne " 



INTRODUCTION 

Although the history of Burgundy is intimately connected with that of 
England — the policy of the Valois Dukes, for example, affected profoundly 
our national destinies during the hundred years' war — the average English 
reader's knowledge of the subject is contained within the four corners of a 
wine list. He knows Beaune — knows the name well, as that of a drinkable 
brand, may have blessed it in his heart, when a ray from the shaded lamp shot 
through its ruby depths. If by any chance he loves Meredith, he may, 
even, under its kindly influence, have whispered to his fair partner. Dr. 
Middleton's phrase: " Burgundy has great genius; Burgundy sings the in- 
spired ode." But should his lady slip in a question concerning this ruddy 
heartener of man, he could not answer; he would stumble between the Cote 
d'Azur and the Cote d'Or. 

Not another town of Burgundy could he name. Dijon he knows, and 
remembers; because there he scalded his throat with hot coffee, gulped down, 
at three in the morning, on the way home from the Riviera; or, bound foi 
Switzerland, he may have passed through the town. But he does not know 
Dijon as a Burgundian Capital, nor as a proud city of royal palaces and 
unrivalled sculpture. At most, when he hears the duchy named, there 
floats through his mind a shadowy memory of Henry V., or of King Lear.t 

Yet Burgundy was the scene of events vital in the making of Europe. It 
was one of the strongholds of Roman civilization. It saw the genesis of w 
religious movement that was the greatest feature of eleventh and twelfth 
century history. Cluny was a nursery of popes; Citeaux became a breeding- 
ground of saints; their abbots lorded it over mighty kings; they dictated to 
potentates and princes; they bent all western Europe beneath their sway. 
Bernard's eloquence fired three nations with enthusiasm for the second 
crusade. 

t Henry V., Act V., Scene 2; King Lear, Act I., Scene i. 



X INTRODUCTION 

That Power, when it had passed from the great monastic houses, fell 
later, in a modified form, to the Valois Dukes. Safely housed in Dijon, or 
in Bruges, ruling a people sheltered, to some extent, from the appalling 
disasters that were transforming the fair kingdom of France into a howling 
wilderness, they kept a more than royal state. Gathering about their 
persons a great company of distinguished artists and valiant knights, they 
established a school of sculpture unmatched in their time; they held pageants 
and tournaments the most brilliant that chivalry had ever seen. 

Headstrong and ambitious, they challenged the crown of France, and 
defied it; they dreamed dreams of a Burgundian empire extending eastward 
beyond the Alps and northward to the Channel. 

'Tis true that these ambitions were never sated. The house of Valois 
had not the constructive mind of which empire is begotten : moreover, 
Destiny, and Louis XL, were too strong for them. But the glorious tale 
of ducal efforts towards that goal outshines all other sunset splendours of 
dying mediaevalism. 

When I think of what might be made of such a theme, I could tear these 
pages, because my best is not better. 

Yet history does not end the attractions of Burgundy. It only begins 
them. Nature, too, has her pageant " in this best garden of the world," 
she will hold you here, whether you choose the delicious, poplar-fringed 
plains of the Saone, the " waterish " Burgundy that the French king sneers 
at in " Lear " — he would have gloried in the land had it been his own — 
or the stern and silent hills of the Jura and the Morvan; or the vine-clad 
slopes of sunny Cote d'Or. 

But, best of all, this land and its people have a character wholly their own. 
You will not feel here the twilight melancholy of Celtic Brittany; the 
quivering, electric atmosphere of romantic Provence; nor the passionate 
intensity of dark Languedoc; but you will find a country well typified by 
its wines, its sculpture, its architecture — a solid, ample, full-bodied, full- 
blooded land; a people strong and vivacious, concealing, beneath a somewhat 
harsh and stern exterior, a cheerful heart and an abundant generosity; com- 
fortable, courageous, eloquent, sonorous folk, that love a good dinner, and 
a good story to follow, that have produced a Bernard, a Bossuet, and a 
Lamartine. 



INTRODUCTION xi 

The key to this Burgundian character, with its blend of Galh'c, Latin, 
and German elements, the key to Burgundian history, too, is the geographi- 
cal position of the country. Its great water-ways flow northward, by the 
Yonne, to the English Channel, and southward, by the Saone, to the 
Mediterranean and the traffic of the East; along its valleys run the great 
trading roads and railways connecting northern and southern, eastern and 
western Europe. With the exception of the Jura, no natural barriers exist 
between Burgundy and the adjoining lands. It was open at all quarters; 
from every point of the compass it borrowed, and it lent. Michelet's 
visionary thought has summed up, in a splendid phrase, the secret of 
Burgundy. He says, speaking of the country round Dijon : " La France 
n'a pas d'element plus liant, plus capable de reconcilier le nord et le midi.'' 

There you have it. To reconcile the bitter antagonisms of north and 
south, and, in a lesser degree, of east and west, was Burgundy's destiny; 
the geographical position that enabled her to do so was at once the source ol 
her greatness, and the cause of her fall. While she remained independent, 
unity was impossible for France; and England's peace was imperilled by 
irresistible temptations to attack a weakened neighbour. 

In writing this book, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to preserve 
historical continuity. That must be my excuse for geographical flights 
which, else, might bewilder my readers. 

My hope is that these pages may awaken, here and there, lasting interest 
in a land that, whether for varied scenery, sunny climate, good living, 
characteristic architecture, or, above all, historical associations of the first 
importance, can hold its own with any other ancient province of France. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER I 

BENEATH THE MOUNT 

PACK 

The Hiring at St. Leger — Distant Beuvray — Fun of the Fair— A mad wolf — Legends 
of the Mount— Gaulish Bibracte— St. Martin at Beuvray— La Pierre de la Wivre— 
Legend of the Wivern— The Cure of Monthelon i 

CHAPTER II 

THE ROMAN CITY 

A Suffering Cow — Temple of Janus — The Aedui — Druids — Divitiacus and Dumnorii 
— ^Vercingetorix — The Founding of Augustoduniun — Pierre de Couhard — Francis 1. 
at Couhard — The Plan of Augustodunum — Temple of Janus — Restoration — Origin of 
the Name — Roman Gates — Porte d'Arroux — Porte St Andre — Date of Construction- 
Porte des Marbres — Vagaries of Peasant guides ii 

CHAPTER III 

THE ROMAN CITY (Continued) 

French Passion for Statues — Roman Temple at Autun — Ecoles M^niennes — The 
Capitol— The Roman Theatre— Two Ways of Lunching— Promenade des Marbres— 
The Amphitheatre 3^ 

CHAPTER IV 

THE ROMAN CITY (Continued) 

Christian Autun — Relics of Lazarus — Translation of the Relics — Tomb of Lazarus — 
Exterior of Cathedral St. Lazare— The Porch— The Interior— Romanesque and Gothic 
The East End— Imbecile Restorations— The Capital— St. Symphorien by Ingres- 
Story of St. Symphorien— Fontaine St. Lazare— Hotel Rolin— The Museums— Napoleon 
at the Hotel St. Louis — No charge for Moonlight ... 4^ 



xiv CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER V 

THE MOTHER ABBEY 

Cluny and Citeaux— Cluny still the Abbey— The Birth of Cluny— Duke William's 
Anathema— Odon — Legend of the Crumbs — Legend of the Boar — Growth of Cluny — 
Birth of Hugues — St. Odilon— Hildebrand — Glory of Cluny— The Monk's Vision 
— The new Abbey — Consecration— Gifts — Description of New Cluny — The Narthex 
—The Interior — Conventual Buildings — Ambulatorium Angelorum — The Rule of Cluny 
— Monkish life at Cluny — Pierre Damien — Death of St. Hugues— Luxury and Deca- 
d6D.C6 ••• •• • 59 

CHAPTER VI 

THE MOTHER ABBEY (Continued) 

Cluny of To-day — Palace of Pope Gelase — The remaining Transept — Chapelle 
Bourbon — Tour du Moulin — Tour des Fromages — Gate of the Narthex — The Abbey 
Gate — Notable Visitors to Cluny — Palais abbatial — Musee — Hotel de Ville— Roman- 
esque Houses — Hotel des Monnaies — Eglise St. Marcel — Hotel Dieu — Bouillon Monu- 
ment — Prud'hon — Women of Burgundy — Hotel de Bourgogne — An amusing Evening 
— A Dream — Berze-le-Chatel — Castle of Lourdon — St. Point — A Poet's Garden — 
Lamartine's Home — Tramaye 86 

CHAPTER VII 

MORE POPE THAN YOU 

Decadent Cluny — Birth of St. Robert — Abbey of Moleme — The Founding of Citeaux 
— White Robes — Black Scapular — Stephen's Vision — The Coming of St. Bernard — 
His Appearance — Legend of His Birth — Bernard converts his Family — Bernard a 
Cistercian— His Austerities — Rise of Citeaux — Daughter Abbeys — Ceremony of 
Foundation — Character of Bernard — Cistercian Ideals — Self-sacrifice — Simplicity — 
Bernard's Letter to Pierre le Venerable — Visitors to Citeaux — Albigensian Crusade — 
Citeaux's Crime — A Cistercian Site — Citeaux to-day — The Chapter — My Flemish Guide in 

CHAPTER VIII 

CLUNY'S DAUGHTER 

Monkish Paray — " Une Simple Formalite " — Burgundian Manners — Clothes and 
the Woman — Hotel de Ville — Church of Paray — Splendid Example of Clunisian 
School — " Diorama — Musee " — Burgundian English — North Door — Porch — Interior — 
Blasphemy and kindred Matters — A very young Mule — A Snake-charmer 127 

CHAPTER IX 

HER THREE CROWNS 

Chalons-sur-Sa6ne — River Pageants— Gontran — Abbey of St. Marcel — The Story cf 
Bertille 106 



CONTENTS XV 

CHAPTER X 

PAGE 

ABELARD AND HELOISE 

Church of St. Marcel — Story of Abelard and Heloise — Olivier de la Marche — 
Tournament of la Dame des Pleurs — Tournament of 1273 — Modern Chalons-sur- 
Saone — Eglise St. Vincent 14c 

CHAPTER XI 

TOURNUS BY THE SAONE 

Abbey of St. Philibert— Oldest Clunisian Porch— Interior of St. Philibert— A 
Change of Author — The Record of Raoul Glaber — Raoul's Visions — Famine in 
Burgundy — Human Vampires — In a Tournusian Cafe — " Au Point du Jour " — Greuze 
— Morning and Evening on the Saone — Macon 160 

CHAPTER XII 

THE VALLEY OF THE OUCHE 

A Page of Dialogue — Castle of Marigny — Legend of Tebsima — Alberic — Labussiere 
— Alberic's Dream — Aid from Citeaux — The new Church — Modern Labussiere — A 
magnificent Mansion — Antigny-le-Chatel — A Vigneron's Wedding — Arnay-le-Duc — ■ 
Study in Roofs and Colours — A charming Town — The Goats — The Poor Man — The 
Hotel Chretien — Around Arnay 173 

CHAPTER XIII 

THE CITY OF THE DUKES 

Unknown Dijon — The City in 1364 — Philip le Hardi — His jewelled Coats — The 
Madness of the Period — Costume of that Day — Madness of King Charles — Philip's 
Patronage of Art — Chartreuse de Champnol — Puits de Moise— Portal of the Chapel — 
Claus Slater and his Nephew — Tombs of Philip le Hardi and Jean sans Peur — The 
Pleurants — Character of Jean sans Peur^ — Murder of Duke of Orleans — Whitewashing 
— Armagnacs and Burgundians Revenge 184 

CHAPTER XIV 

CITY OF THE DUKES (Continued) 

Salle des Gardes — Dijon Castle — A new Post-Office — Final Struggle between Charles 
!(-■ Temeraire and Louis XI — Characters of both Men — Defeats and Death of Charles 
Discovery of the Body — Victorious Rene — Louis' Joy — New Castles — Entry into Dijon 
End of Burgundian Dreams — Modern Dijon — St. Benigne — St. Michel — Notre Dame 
Jacquemart — Ducal Palace and Kitchen — Sketching — Palais de Justice — Plombieres — 
Talant — Fontaine-lez-Dijon — Memories of Bernard — Tournament of Tree of Charle- 
magne 203 



xvi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER XV 

THE DEVIL'S PIT 
Easter Morning— Lux— The Devil's Pit — Dialogue — The Legend — Serve him right ! aai 

CHAPTER XVI 

BEAUNE AND THE COTE D'OR 

" Bits " in Beaune — Notre Dame — Hotel Dieu — An Earthly Paradise — Exterior 
—Court-yard — Chapel — Devices — Roger Van der Weyden's " Last Judgment " — 
Nicholas Rolin — Guigonne 23° 

CHAPTER XVII 

SAINT MARTIN'S WELL AND THE LEGEND OF SAINT MARGUERITE 

Bouilland — Abbey of Sainte Marguerite — The Legend — Vineyards of the C6te d'Or 
— Meursault — Rochepot — Story of Philippe Pot — Crusader's Return — His Marriage 
at Dijon — Tant L Vaut— A Talk at Auxey-le-Grand — Through C6te d'Or by Train — 
Cussy-la-Colonne — Bewitched — The Column — A Democratic Journey — St. Martin's 
Well— Legend of St. Martin's Well 337 

CHAPTER XVIII 

IN RURAL BURGUNDY 

The Road to Verdun — Burgundian Folk-song, " Eho !" — It's Story — Verdun sur le 
Doubs — The First of March — Burgundian Folk-Lore — Teillage — Winter Scene — An 
old-time Burgundian Wedding — The Patois— Francois Fertiault 258 

CHAPTER XIX 

A LAKE IN THE JURA 

Swiss Burgundy — Scenes in the Jura — Nantua from the Hills — Real Burgundy — 
A capable Woman — Church of Nantua 372 

CHAPTER XX 

PRINCESS MARGARET'S CHURCH 

Bourg-en-Bresse — Signs of the South — Conveyances — Monument Historique — 
Cezenat — Princess Margaret's Church — Exterior — Interior — Story of Princess Margaret 
— Loys von Boghen — Death of Margaret — The Meaning of her Church — The Tombs 
— Paradin's Chronique de Savoie — Francis I. at Bourg 276 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Mont Beuvray Frontispiece 

A Gaulish Soldier i 

On Mont Beuvray 7 

The Wivern 10 

The Porte St. Andre 11 

Autun; shewing Cathedral and Mediaeval Towers 17 

Autun; Pierre de Couhard 19 

Autun; Temple of Janus 23 

Autun; Porte d'Arroux 25 

Burgundian Peasant 30 

Head of Augustus 31 

Autun; Mediaeval Towers 35 

A Burgundian Welcome 38 

Masks of Comedy and Tragedy 40 

Roman Vine Ornament 41 

St. Lazarus; from the Porch of Autun Cathedral 46 

Autun; Fontaine St. Lazare Facing 50 

Autun; Tour des Ursulines 52 

Cluny Abbey and Gateway, as they were 59 

Cluny; Valley of the Grosne and part of the Abbey Grounds 62 

Cluny; Tour Fabri 64 

Clunisian Ornament 67 

,God reproving Adam; from a capital of the Abbey of Cluny 7» 

Cluny Abbey, as it was at the beginning of XlXth Century (by permission of 

M. Perrault-Dabot) 72 

Cluny; Clocher de I'Eau B^nite 78 

Cluny; ruined Gate of the Narthex 81 

A Jewelled Crucifix 85 

Early Clunisian Ornament 86 

Cluny; Tour des Fromages 87 

Cluny; Gateway of the Abbey 90 

Cluny; Hotel de Ville 92 

Cluny; Pascal Lamb; twelfth century 93 

B 



XVI 11 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



Cluny; Hotel des Monnaies, twelfth century 

Ornament 

Cluny ; a Capital from the Abbey 

Chateau de Berze 

Chateau de Lourdon 

House of Lamartine 

St. Bernard 

St. John : Burgundian School ... 

Justice and Truth 

Paray-le-Monial ; the Church 

Two Priests 

Paray-le-Monial ; North Door of the Church 

Gontran and Bertille 

Her Three Crowns 

Abelard and Heloise 

Beaune ; Maison Colombier 

Chalon sur Saone; Maison de Bois 

The Saone near Tournus 

A Street in Tournus 

Tournus; the Abbey 

By the Saone 

Antigny-le-Chatel 

Arnay-le-Duc ; Corner House, sixteenth century 

Arnay-le-Duc ; Tour de la Motte Forte 

Dijon 

Dijon : at the Cafe 

Moses; from the Puits de Moise, Dijon 

Philippe le Bon, Duke of Burgundy 

A Corner of the Tomb of Philippe le Hardi ... 
Pleurants from the Tomb of Philippe le Hardi 

Dijon; Corner of the Place des Dues 

Pleurant 

Ornament 

Sword 

Dijon : Decorated windows of the Maison Milsand 
Dijon Museum; Woman at Prayer ... 

Dijon; a Street 

Dijon; Door of Eglise St. Michel ... . 
Dijon; A Font in the Eglise St. Michel 
Sculpture; Notre Dame de Dijon ... . 
Dijon; Well outside the Duke's Kitchen ., 

Vine Ornament 

Dijon; a fifteenth century Window ... . 

Ornament 

Arbre Charlemagne 



Facing 



Facing 



Facing 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



XIX 



The Three Huntsmen 

Through the Forest 

Vine Ornament 

Beaune ; Belfry of the Hospice de la Charite 

Beaune; Porch of Notre Dame Facing 

Beaune ; Courtyard of the Hotel Dieu 

Star Ornament 

Saint Martin and Saint Margaret ... 

Ruins of St. Margaret's Abbey 

La Rochepot 

Beaune : Porch of the Hotel-Dieu Facing 

Tomb of Philippe Pot . 

Taking his Ease 

Roman Column at Cussy 

Valley of Nantoux ... . 

St. Martin Preaching . 

Burgundian Ox-cart 

In Rural Burgundy 

Junction of Rivers Doubs and Sa6ne 

Oxen ploughing Facing 

Burgundian Cottage 

Chateau de Moux 

Nantua and the Lake 

Nantua from the Hill 

Princess Margaret's Tomb 

Bourg ; in the Street 

Eglise de Brou : Ste. Madeleine from the Tomb of Marguerite d'Autriche 

Eglise de Brou : Ornament from the Tomb of Marguerite d'Autriche 

Princess Marguerite d'Autriche 

Sketch Map of South Burgundy 



PAGE 
221 
225 
230 
231 
232 

236 

239 
241 
242 
245 
247 
251 
254 
257 
258 
261 
261 
264 
267 
270 
272 
274 
276 
278 
287 
290 
292 
293 



/ 




CHAPTER I 



We had expected quiet, rural times in this far-away village of St.-Leger- 
sous-Beuvray; but I doubt whether we shall get them. The village green 
in front of the Hotel du Morvan shows signs of unusual animation; it is 
dotted with carts, which are discharging tent-poles, canvas, golden cars, and 
other paraphernalia of a country festival; and, surer sign still, through the 
door of an open shed, I can see hanging, headless and lamentable, the 
gaping corpse of a fatted calf. Yes ! there is his tawny countenance and 
two mild eyes looking down, like those of a martyred saint, from the cruel 
hook. The odour of him, wafted in succulent puffs, from the dead-house 
door, has cheered with a splendid hope half the dogs in the village, and 
awakened from torpor two ancient hounds, who prowl, almost youthfully, 
sniffing fragrant memories in the air. 

"What is going to happen?" I asked the landlord, who was sharpening 
tools on a bench. 

" 'Tis the Lou^e, Monsieur, the hiring that takes place every year. All 
in the neighbourhood who want farm-hands, or domestic servants, and those 
who want places, come to-morrow morning and make bargains. And the 
Directeur of Enfants Assistes (Foundlings) is coming, too; he is to stop 
here at my hotel, and so his children get work." 



2 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

We were up early the next morning. Only deaf men, or dead ones, 
sleep through a Louee. There came to us in our bedroom, with the sun- 
shine, an indescribable babel of sounds — babble of voices, braying of trum- 
pets, banging of drums. To a Londoner, strange methods of doing 
business ! 

We went out into the din and the sunshine to find the transformation 
complete. All the green was dotted with booths bright with gaudy trinkets 
of every imaginable colour; shooting galleries, and a hundred other sou- 
trapping devices. Before every inn had sprung up, as if by magic, a salle de 
bal, with a real wooden floor, and a little balconj'^ for the musicians. There 
was a gipsy encampment, too, where, heedless of the din, a Romany sat 
upon the trunk of a fallen tree, methodically skinning hedgehogs with a 
knife; while his two small sons were unmethodically currey-combing the 
yellow pony, and dusting him down with his own tail, cut off and tied to a 
stick! The door of the caravan opened; there was a glimpse of a v/oman's 
arm, and a pailful of slops shot out, sparkling in the sun, to alight 
where fate might decree. Brown drops splashed up into the hollow 
eyes of Grandmother, dreaming on a chair by the steps. Mean- 
while the peasants went on hiring and being hired; some sealing 
the bargain with a glass of red wine, in the Cafe ; some, if 
the maid were comely, with a kiss. Peasants I call them, though, 
at first sight, this array of black blouses and black squash hats suggests a 
meeting of nonconformist parsons, rather than farmers of the Morvan. Yet 
one learns to accept them so, and to enjoy the deep, black shadows that lurk 
in the folds of the garments. Straw hats are few; but the white caps of 
the old ladies are there for contrast. 

Wearied of the buzzing crowd, the nerve-racking crack of the rifles, we 
wandered out of the village, and sat by the edge of a ploughed field, where 
we watched, above a rampart of firs shot with spring greens, the purple mass 
of dark Beuvray lifting its crested summit into the cloudless sky, — 
mysterious Beuvray, whence of old, as darkness closed upon their homes, 
the wondering peasants in the valley, heard, from the mysterious mountain 
city above their heads, the sound of great gates creaking harshly upon their 
hinges. 

But to-morrow is for Beuvray. To-day we will watch the long 
stream of peasants coming to the Fair, by the lanes that wind, up and down, 



BENEATH THE MOUNT 3 

among the buttress hills of the mount. They come on foot, in farm carts, 
on bicycles; but most of them come in little, trim donkey-carts ; husband 
and wife sitting primly side by side, their tanned faces shewing strongly 
above the silently twitching, brown ears of the "baudet." Here is a family 
in a donkey-drawn washing-basket, three generations of them, packed like 
sardines. After dejeuner, when the hiring is done, the older ones leave; 
the turn of the younger is come. Then the fillettes begin to appear — 
Fifines made fine for the Fair — all cut after the same pattern, with white 
blouses below much be-ribboned straw hats; each carrying, because of the 
mid-day sun, a grey jacket lined with light blue. These come tripping 
from village and hamlet, clinging to each other, with little toddlers holding 
their hands; all chattering, smiling, sweltering, happy. The fiddlers will 
be tuning up in the Salles de Bal. 

So we followed the maids back to the village, and wandered again among 
the booths. An old, old lady, beside a not less ancient friend was nursing a 
tin mug. They were discussing bargains and their budget. " I got this for 
three sous; et je trouve que c'est bien solide." On that point she was cruelly 
deceived. But what matter? Thinking makes it so. What a popping of 
corks comes from the Cafe ! 

Bang ! Bang ! ! Bang ! ! Bang ! ! Bang ! ! ! The crowd surges toward 
a compelling din. Before the largest of the tents a half-naked, muscular 
ruffian stands silent upon a tub; beside him another, clad in shiny velveteens, 
shouts himself hoarse. 

"Gentlemen, you all know that the 'lutte est le premier gymnastique du 
monde.' Come in then, and see. Our professor challenges all comers. He 
will wrestle with a great bear. Now for la lutte aux ours! Entrez; we 
will show you the veritable gorille, and the most terrible beast in the world, 
the Monstre du Pole Nord." And, indeed, above his head was writ in gold 
letters, the fearsome legend : "Monstre du Pole Nord." 

We went in, with other youths and maidens. The baby that followed 
us, shewing signs of strong emotion, was hastily removed by its mother. 

"Up against the canvas, please gentlemen. La seance va commencer au 
milieu ! " 

We watched while, before the bars that held the four-legged animals, the 
naked bipeds struggled furiously; clutching, writhing, rolling, till the bare, 
oily skins were dark with perspiration and sawdust. Their eyes were so full 



4 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

of it, that, between the rounds, they were gouging it out with their knuckles. 
"Ca y est ! Ca y est ! " "At it again ! " 

" Bravo monsieur Tamateur, un petit bravo pour I'amateur " — with arms 
like telegraph posts — " le plus fort du pays." So it went on — the " lutte 
aux hommes," the " lutte aux ours." 

For a full five minutes the sanded professor leant up against and pushed 
the furry mass of Jean Pierre, the feebly scratching, tangled bear, who was 
too bored to be m^chant. From behind their bars the Monstre Du Pole 
Nord (a sloth bear) and " le veritable gorille " (a Barbary ape) grunted 
approval of their companion's efforts. 

Through the crowded entrance we pushed our way into the largest of the 
Salles de Bal, bright with lit lamps and coloured ribbons. In a scarlet 
and green box, with a yellow diamond, slung to the roof of the tent, the 
fiddlers and viol players, sitting in their shirt-sleeves, squeaked and ground 
lustily. There was babble of voices and rhythmic scuffle of feet. A young 
soldier, fair and close-cropped, in uniform, crossed the salle, bowed to my 
wife, and asked for a dance. A moment's hesitation, and she was whirh'ng 
round with the others. As he said to her at parting; " You are not in 
France every day." It was three in the morning before darkness and silence 
settled down upon St.-Leger-sous-Beuvray. 

The next morning we rode to the Mount by a lane that, undulating, 
climbs, through pasture, arable, and woodland, among the buttress hilJs of 
Beuvray, to the Poirier aux Chiens, a lonely farmhouse, where we left our 
bicycles. Cyclists are rather worried hereabout by excitable dogs and 
hysterical sheep; but the former are not dangerous, as they are in 
Languedoc and other parts of the south of France; and we are happily free 
to-day from the dangers of two hundred years ago; as when, on the i8th of 
June, 1 718, at nightfall, St. Leger was visited by a mad wolf from the top 
of Beuvray, that wounded and disfigured sixteen people, of whom all but 
one died of hydrophobia. The single exception was a woman, who had 
only been scratched by the animal's claws. After this incident a Con- 
fraternity of St. Hubert was established in connection with the Church, and 
by the authority of the bishop, for the destruction of wild beasts.* 

The easiest path by which those who are not familiar with the locality 

* Hamerton's " The Mount," p. 26. 



BENEATH THE MOUNT 5 

can climb Beuvray, is from the Croix du Rebout, nearly two kilometres 
beyond the Poirier aux Chiens, at the top of the col, just where the descent 
begins. Several other paths lead up to it; but as there are more than 
twenty miles of Gaulish roads intersecting on the tree-clad slopes of the 
Mount, it is very easy to lose yourself completely, as I did on my first visit; 
until there was nothing for it but to descend to the road and seek another 
path. My only consolation for those two hours of wasted energy was that, 
while lunching beside the forest path, I met, face to face, a red fox ambling 
jauntily on his way. How we stared at one another; and how I wished 
that, for once, he could talk. 

But, "after all," the reader may ask, "Why climb Beuvray? When 
you are up there, what is to be seen but a view; and what mean these 
twenty miles of Gaulish roads through a wilderness of boughs?" To which 
pertinent question I reply, that in all France there is but one Beuvray. 

You will find more romantic peaks in the Alpines of Provence, you will 
find grander, more striking mountains in volcanic Auvergne; in the Alps 
you will see summits, clothed in eternal snow, beside which the Mount is 
but a molehill; but nowhere will you find such a hill as this, whose flanks 
have echoed to the tramp of Caesar's legions, whose crest, the council 
chamber of kings and generals, has flamed through long nights with the 
beacon fires of a great city. Nowhere else will you find a hill that the 
centuries have so peopled with dragon and saint, with phantom hound and 
spectre horseman, and have made as harmonious with legendary poetry and 
immemorial voices, as nature has made her woods vocal with whispering fern 
and wandering wind, with the ripple of the brook, and the stir of creeping 
things in the grass.* 

For this Beuvray is no other than Bibracte, the Gaulish oppidum that 
Caesar speaks of as "Oppido Aeduorum longe maximo et copiosissimo."t 
Tradition, as I have said, had rumoured it for centuries as the site of an 
ancient city; but many had supposed that Autun was the place referred to, 
until the researches of M. Bulliot, the Antiquary of Hamerton's delightful 
work " The Mount," settled the problem once for all. Of the history of 
the last days of the town I will say something in the next chapter; for the 
present, let us be content to mount the rocky, rain-washed, Gaulish road that 

*Alesia, though intensely interesting, lacks the mysterious quality of Beuvray. 
JDe Belle Gallico, lib. i, cap. 23 : "By far the finest and largest town of the Aedui.'' 



6 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

leads up, through interlacing boughs, to the " Grand Hotel des Gaulois," or, 
in other words, the little house and sheds near the summit, which the 
antiquary occupied while making his researches and excavations. The 
path runs beside many of the most interesting discoveries, though nothing 
of the remains is to be seen, the owner having stipulated that all " fouilles '' 
should be covered up, a precaution necessary in any event, if the primitive 
Gaulish homes of stones and wood, with mud for mortar, are ever to be 
preserved to a later posterity.* 

After passing the huts, you come, by a grassy woodland path winding up 
through ferns and bracken, to the terrace on the summit of the hill, now 
mercifully clear of the ubiquitous trees. Here, on the site of the ancient 
temple to the Dea Bibracte, one of the many Gaulish gods, M. Bulliot has 
erected a little chapel in Romanesque style, dedicated to St. Martin. Here, 
also, is a granite cross, with a carving of St. Martin performing an act of 
charity at the gate of Amiens; not far away is a memorial to M. Bulliot 
himself. 

Tradition has given much prominence to the doings of St. Martin here, 
as elsewhere in France, and it seems probable that the saint did visit 
Bibracte, about the year 377, on his way to Autun. M. Bulliot, and 
other authorities, agree that he preached on the plateau of Beuvray, possibly 
from the Pierre de la Wivre; and the legend has it that here he overthrew 
a pagan temple, arousing thereby such fierce anger among the inhabitants, 
that he escaped only by a miraculous leap of his ass across the gorge of 
Malvaux (Mauvaise vallee) to the south-west of the Mount, where the 
animal's hoof-prints are still to be seen. Later I shall give fully a pre- 
cisely similar legend concerning St. Martin in the valley of Nantoux. 

When once we had got our bearings, and accustomed ourselves to the 
silence and solitude of the spot, we began to feel the charm of the lonely 
plateau, and to realize its attractions for those who would live close to nature 
and to the past. When I first visited it, on a bright autumn afternoon, not a 
leaf was astir upon the golden oaks, not a spray of the bramble trembled, 
not a rustle was heard among the dead ferns in the grass; only, from far 
away in the valley below, came the rumble of a cart-wheel, the crack of 
a sportsman's rifle in the distant woods. 

* I am told that the fouilles are open every year during a part of the month of 

August. 



8 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

" So still it was that I could almost hear 
The sigh of all the sleepers in the world; 
And all the rivers running to the sea." 

I looked down through the fringing trees. For mile after mile the 
country lay golden before me, fields rising and falling, till they were lost 
in the eastern sky. There was little St. Leger, a toy village among tiny 
hills; there was the Etang de Poisson, a sapphire set in emeralds, and far away 
the evening sun flashing upon the spires of Autun Cathedral.* The 
sound of a footstep broke the stillness. A youth was approaching me — a 
chetif, mis-shapen, shaking thing. He gazed on me with drooping jaw, 
and passed muttering — an idiot wandering through a night-mare world. 

Then I, too, began to dream fantastic dreams, and to see spectres of the 
past, such as — the peasants tell you — still flit over the crest of Beuvray, — 
a white horse galloping at midnight, a loud voice commanding ghostly 
legions in Latin; shadowy riders, moving shades of mediaeval knights and 
barons still climbing the stony paths to this their airy tilting ground. 
Winged gabble raches passed screaming over my head, and, from afar, 
baying in deep-mouthed thunder, I heard the hounds of the phantom hunter 
of Touleur.+ 

But that was a thundery day last autumn, and this is a soft April 
evening, with a breeze in the leaves, and silver clouds afloat in a blue sky. 
Moreover, I am not alone. 

We wandered back by the path along which we had come, and made our 
way to the Pierre de la Wivre, a curious, pointed rock rising from the 
plateau. Its sulphurous yellow colour is due to the lichen with which it is 
covered. From the green headland, surrounded with holly-bushes, on which 
it stands, you have magnificent views over rounded, village-dotted hills, 
whose brown-green upland fields nestle up to the dark forests that crown 
every summit. Up from the valleys come the shouts of the teamsters 
urging on the slow, pale oxen. 

This Pierre de la Wivre shows signs of man's handling, and has probably 
been the scene of human sacrifices, and of other ancient religious rites. We 
asked ourselves whether there may not have been some religious significance 

* Hamerton says, that, on a clear day you can see Mont Blanc, 157 miles as the 

crow flies. It is the distance from London to Scarborough. 

t " The Mount," pp. 54-56. 



BENEATH THE MOUNT 9 

in the surrounding belt of holly bushes, since there are indications of a 
similar belt round the chapel of St. Martin. Perhaps the holly tree was 
sacred to the Gauls. Sitting upon the stone we recalled the legend as 
told by Hamerton.* 

" The peasants believe that the Wivern dwells near it in a hidden 
cavern guarding its treasure, but that once a year the cavern opens and the 
Wivern goes out, leaving the treasure unguarded. As to the time of year 
when this happens the narrators differ. Some say that it is at midnight on 
Christmas Eve, others fix it for Easter Day during High Mass; in either 
case it is during Mass, as there is a midnight service at Christmas. The 
popular legend in its present form goes on to recount how a certain woman, 
accompanied by her child, went to the stone of the Wivern, instead of going 
to Mass, intending to take his treasure. She found the cave open, entered, 
and took as much gold as she could carry, and came out just in time to 
escape the Wivern on his return. On looking round for her child, she 
could not find him anywhere. The cavern being now closed again, she 
knew not what to do, and went in despair to the priest, who told her to go 
to the place every day and pour milk and honey on the stone till the expira- 
tion of twelve months, and then, when the day came for the opening of the 
cave, to take her treasure back to it undiminished, and she would find her 
child. So she went day by day without fail, in heat and cold, in fine 
weather and foul, and poured milk and honey on the stone. At last the 
day came when the Wivern left the cave, and the mother found her child 
within, sitting quite unhurt, and in perfect health, with an apple before him 
on a stone table. So she restored the treasure gladly, and took away her 
child." 

M. Bulliot thinks that the legend was originally one of some Gaulish 
sacrilege and reparatory oblation, the Gaulish priests requiring a daily offer- 
mg (perhaps of milk and honey) until certain stolen treasu'^e was restored. 
The Catholic character of the legend he looks upon as nothing but an 
af tergrov/th ; and the apple has, in his opinion, a distinct though undiscover- 
able significance. 

From the Pierre de la Wivre we could see, on the next headland to our 
left, the ridge of Pierre Salvee sharply serrated against the sky. There, 

* " The Mount," pp. 103-4. 



lo BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

half an hour later, we found ourselves rewarded by a glorious sight. West 
ward we could see extending mile upon mile, ridge after ridge, the glowing 
mountains of Auvergne, and the valley of the Loire, veiled in a shimmering 
mist, through whose mysterious wreaths flashed, here and there, in diamond 
splendour, the sun-touched roof of a humble cottage and the tower of a 
lordly chateau. t 

With all the thousand other interesting details concerning Bibracte — the 
Gaulish roads, the ramparts, the remains, the descriptions and industries of 
the town, the visits of Caesar — I have no space to deal here; but I 
recommend particularly to the reader Hamerton's book, from which I have 
quoted, and M. Dechelette's handy guide, " L'Oppidum de Bibracte." 

We cycled from St. Leger to Autun, by way of La Grand Verriere 
Monthelon, and the Valley of the Arroux. Monthelon, some seven kilo- 
metres from Autun, is a place famous in French Ecclesiastical history. It 
has, as is common in Burgundian villages, a delightful little Romanesque 
Church, concerning one of whose cures Hamerton tells a good story which 
I cannot refrain from giving in the original tongue. 

This old cure, then, was fond of putting Latin into his sermons, a little 
bit at a time, his own Latin; not of the best. " 'Lorsque je paraitrai devant 
Notre Seigneur, il me demandera; ' Cure Monthelonius, ubi sunt brebetis 
meis " — ce qui veut dire; ' Cure de Monthelon, ou sont me brebis?' Et 
moi je eui repondrai; 'betes je les ai trouvees, betes je les ai laissees, et 
b^tes elles sont tres probablement encore.' " 

Can you refrain from reading " The Mount " after that ? 




t The Pierre Salvee has no legend ; the name is probably derived from some ancient 

divinity. 




TflC ROnAff 

CITX, 

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CHAPTER II 

In the railway station of Autun we had waited long for our bicycles to 
be taken out of the train. They did not appear. The porters were all 
busy with a cattle-truck that they were pushing casually down a siding, till 
it was stopped in mid-career by the buffers of another truck. 

Bang ! ! Rattle ! Bang ! ! The thicket of horns, visible from without, 
shook like a wood in a winter gale. A mild white head was thrust over 
the lime- washed barrier, mutely protesting. We echo the animal's protest, 
and our own. 

" Do you always keep travellers waiting like this ? " 

"You see, Monsieur, it is because of the cow, she is bien souflfrante." 

" Then why treat her so?" I pointed to the still trembling truck; " but 
in any case, are we of less importance than a cow ? Are not we, too, bien 
souffrant ?" 

" Yes, but you see, Monsieur, if the cow died, the patro?i would lose four 
hundred francs; but, had I known, I would have brought your bicycles 
earlier." We reached the Hotel St. Louis at last. 

Then, wishing to escape, until dinner-time, from the still glowing 
streets, we crossed the Place du Champs de Mars, followed the gentle 
descent of the Faubourg d'Arroux, and passed beneath the Roman gate that 
leads northward from the city of Augustus into the open plain. A hundred 



12 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

yards or so further on, a sharp turn to the left brought us to two bridges 
crossing the tributary streams that wind among the whispering poplars, 
beneath which, all day long, the kneeling blanchisseuses have been pounding 
mercilessly their unoffending washing. Continuing our walk between 

the dusty green hedges of the lane meandering through the fertile plain of 
Autun, we saw, rising before us, a building whose mysterious, alluring aspect 
at once rivetted our attention, as it must that of all who have an eye for the 
spirit of the past, and an ear for her call. We entered boldly by the gate 
in the hedge, and shared possession of the field with the pale cows, who, 
placid as the stones, and not unlike them in colour, lifted to us questioning 
eyes. 

The monument, — all that remains of it, rather, — consists of two great 
stone walls, adjacent sides of a building, ruined and roofless. It rises in 
the midst of the meadow, from among the grasses and brambles about its 
base, a huge, weird, Caliban-like thing, shattered, yet still massive, pierced 
with great tortured openings, and many smaller ones above. The golden 
light of evening, gilding it, casts into the holes and crevices, between the 
weather-worn masonry, pitchy shadows from which the stones bristle out 
defiantly, as though challenging the centuries to undo them, if man will 
but hold his hand. 

This relic of Roman times, called by the peasants, " The Temple of 
Janus " — though some antiquarians deny that it was ever a temple, and that 
the three headed god was ever worshipped there — is not the only striking 
object in the landscape. Away to the north-west, behind the tossing boughs 
of the poplars, the setting sun is adorning with changing purples the flanks 
of the distant hills. The broadest of those peaks, crested with dark 
foliage, is none other than our old friend the Mount. 

We turned to the opposite side of the valley. Before us were symbols of 
two later periods of Burgundy's prosperity — the modern city of Autun, 
seated proudly upon the lower slopes of a mountain throne, and, high above 
the roofs, the great mass of the cathedral of St. Lazare lifting her Gothic 
spire to the sky. 

The peculiar interest of the spot, the reason why we chose it as a 
starting point in our travel through Southern Burgundy, is that here we 
have, before our very eyes, visible symbols of four clearly marked stages in 
the history of the Duchy; the Gallic, Roman, Gothic, and modern periods. 



THE ROMAN CITY 13 

We will begin with the Gallic period, in the days when Cassar wrote of 
that city, there upon Mont Beuvray; " Bibracte, oppido Aeduorum longe 
maximo et copiosissimo ";* and tell, very shortly, the story of the tribe, in 
their relations with the Roman conquerors. § 

The Aedui, concerning whom all our available information comes from 
the Latin writers, were a Gallic tribe, inhabiting, approximately, the space 
of country bounded on the east by the Saone, on the south by the chain of 
mountains between the Lyonnais and Auvergne, on the west by the Loire, 
and on the north by the valleys of the Vouge, the Oze, the Brenne and 
the Yonne. They were a virile, warlike race, that, from a very early 
period, had been recognised as the superior of the neighbouring races, among 
which the strongest were, perhaps, their enemies and rivals, the Arverni of 
mountainous Auvergne. For very many years before the Roman invasion, 
there had been intercommunication — often of an aggressive nature— between 
the Aedui and the Italian races; but it was not until the year 123 B.C. that 
anything in the nature of a direct alliance was formed between the former 
and the Romans, although Tacitus and Cicero both allude to them as 
"Brothers of the Roman Nation"; and the weaker people naturally would not 
be slow to take advantage of the great military strength of the new-comers, if 
it could be exercised on their behalf. The occasion soon came to put that 
strength to the test, when, after a series of quarrels with the Arverni and 
other neighbouring tribes, the latter summoned the Germans to their assist- 
ance. The Aedui, feeling that their independence was threatened, sent 
their chief Druid priest, Divitiacus, to appeal unto Caesar. 

Before we see how he fared, let us glance at this leader, whose 
statue stands to-day in the Promenade des Marbres at Autun, The Druids 
were the magistrate-priests of their respective cities, where, by the right of 
knowledge, riches, birth — for all were of noble blood — they exercised almost 
despotic power. They were the theologians, philosophers, iurists, astrono- 
mers, physicians, and moralists of their times; they were the educators of 

* De Bello Gallico, lib. i, cap. 23 : " Bibracte, by far the finest and largest town of 

> the Aedui. 

§ I refer all who want full details of the period to M. Camille Jullian's book 

" Histoire de la Gaule," and to Mm. de Fontenay and de Charmasse's "Autun 

et ses Monuments avec un precis historique," a very useful book obtainable at 

the " Libraire Dujessieu " at Autun. 



14 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

youth, the depositaries of the holy mysteries of their religion, and of the 
supernatural forces; the arbitors of life and death — since no human sacrifice 
might be offered without their sanction. They were also superintendents 
of the observance of religious rites, of the practice of the ritual demanded 
by the gods. Still subject to those gods, the people would fear the priest not 
less than the magistrate. Kings, even, were awed by these mouthpieces 
of the most high. Such was he whom the Aedui chose for their ambassador. 

Divitiacus went to Rome, and there, in person, pleaded his cause before 
the senate. His embassy seems to have been of little apparent effect; but, 
though he lost his suit, he gained a friend — Cicero. 

In spite of the Druid's failure, Caesar's legions were, nevertheless, soon 
on their way to Gaul. The Helvetii, coveting the fertile land that lay 
beside theirs, decided to attempt its conquest. Caesar, aided by some 
Aeduen troops, who now fought for the first time beneath the eagle, met 
the invaders on the banks of the Saone,* and annihilated them in the first 
great battle of his life. Henceforth, for a time, the two nations are 
brothers. " Aeduii, fratres nostri, pugnant."t Such they remained; until 
the next nation that threatened them — Ariovistus and his German hordes — 
had suffered the fate of the Helvetii. 

It was, however, inevitable that the warlike tribes of Gaul should 
endeavour, sooner or later, to throw off the yoke of an alien civilization, 
which, while it brought them material blessings of inestimable value — of 
which not the least was the introduction of the vine, — was, nevertheless, 
galling to their spirit of sturdy independence. Soon the Aedui were being 
stirred to revolt. Foremost among the discontents, was the leader of the 
Aeduen cavalry, Dumnorix, brother to Divitiacus, though his opposite in 
character. The trusted ally of Caesar, and the friend of Cicero, Divitiacus 
the Druid accepted philosophically the Roman dominion; his brother, tur- 
bulent, adventurous, restless — a Prince Rupert of his day — had other 
dreams for his country. Caesar was about to embark on his second expedi- 
tion to Britain, when the news came that Dumnorix, who was under orders 
to accompany him, had withdrawn, followed by the Aeduen cavalry. 
Cassar, delaying his embarkation, sent his own cavalry in pursuit, with 
orders to kill or capture the rebel, if he refused to submit. Soon overtaken, 

* The battle took place probably near Montmort, about 5 kilometres north of Toulon. 
t De Bell : Gall : lib. i, cap. 15 : " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 12. 



THE ROMAN CITY 15 

Dumnorix defended himself valiantly, and fell, sword in hand, with the cry- 
on his lips : " I die a free citizen of a free country." § One is tempted 
to wish that the people of Autun had raised in the " Place des Marbres," 
beside that of his more philosophic brother, a statue to this gallant leader of 
of a forlorn hope. 

The example of Dumnorix was followed, before long, by almost the 
whole of Roman Gaul; the principal cities being quite unable to resist the 
temptation offered by the long absence of their enemy at the capital. Caesar, 
writing from Rome, protested vigorously against the ingratitude of the 
Aedui. He reminded them of their grievous plight before his legions freed 
them; of their decimated armies, of their ravaged land, of the heavy tributes, 
the noble hostages wrung from them. But he spoke in deaf ears. The 
Aedui had definitely linked their destiny with that of their nation. Only 
the final arbitrament of force could be appealed to. 

They summoned to a council of war, Vercingetorix, the ablest general of 
his day, chief of their hereditary enemies, the Arverni; but, accustomed for 
long to regard themselves as the dominant tribe of the Gauls, they offered 
him only a subordinate command. His refusal of any command, other than 
the highest, was followed by an assembly general of the Gallic tribes at 
Bibracte, when, on the matter being put to the vote, the great meeting, with 
one voice, proclaimed Vercingetorix their leader, f The story of his last 
desperate struggle against the Romans at Alesia, and of his defeat and 
death, do not properly belong to the history of Autun, nor to that of 
Bibracte. 

Gaul had become a province of the great Roman Empire. A higher 
civilisation, already familiar to the conquered tribes, is to impose its dominion, 
its architecture, its art, upon the conquered land. Bibracte, the oppidum on 
the wooded hills, will echo no more to the shouts of Gauls acclaiming their 
general or their victory. Deserted, probably in the first years of the 
Christian era, silence reigns henceforth over the hills; silence broken only 
by the patter of rain drops, by the moan of the wind, or the weird howl of 
the wolf, roaming, at midnight, among the ruins of the abandoned city. 

§ " Ille enim revocatus resistere, ac se manu defendere, saepe claimitans " liberum 
se liberaque civitatis esse." Caesar de Bell : Gall : lib. v. cap. 7 ; " Autun et 
ses Monuments," p. 19. 

+ " Autun et ses Monuments," Precis Historique, p. 27. 



i6 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

Meanwhile, here, upon the plain below, another and fairer city was 
arising — Augustodunum, the Roman capital of Gaul, now known as Autun. 
It has often been asserted that the location of Bibracte upon Mont Beuvray 
is merely legendary, and that Autun is the historic site of the great city of 
the Aedui. But this theory, as we have seen, has been finally exploded by 
the researches of M. Bulliot. He proves conclusively, not only that Bibracte 
was situate on the summit of Beuvray, but also that Autim was built upon 
virgin soil, and not upon the site of a Gallic city, which would inevitably 
have yielded tangible proof of its existence in Gaulish coins and other remains. 
The proportion of Gaulish to Roman coins found in Autun, up to the 
present time, is about one to fifteen hundred. § Further evidence is offered 
by the fact that the city conforms to the requirements mentioned by 
Vitruvius at the time of its erection — about fifteen to ten years before the 
Christian era — that, in building a town, the first necessity is to choose a 
healthy site, elevated, not subject to fogs, of good temperature, not exposed 
to extremes of heat and cold, away from marshy land, and facing south or 
west.t One of the chief features of Burgundian towns is the excellence 
of their sites. This feature, due no doubt, to Roman example, is nowhere 
more noticeable than at Autun, which remains to-day one of the best situate, 
and among the most interesting, of all the cities of France. 

******* * 

The first thing to be done, it seems to me, in exploring such a place as 
Autun, which comprises a mediaeval and a modern town within the 
Enceinte of a Roman city, is to get your bearings, to orient yourself, as the 
French say. 

On the previous evening, looking up from our sunset seat on the grass, 
beside that mysterious pile known as the Temple of Janus, we had seen, far 
above the city, to the south-east, on the slope of the hills which enthrone 
Autun, a gaunt, grey stone lifting its head over the village roofs of Couhard. 
The next morning found us descending the Rue St. Pancras, into the hollow 
that lies between the village and the town. As we climbed the ascent, the 
rising sun gave us alluring glimpses of the mysterious stone, seen through 
the curling mists of an autumn morning; yet, many a time, we turned from 

§ " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 8. 
+ " Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 8 and 9. 



i8 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

it, to watch the light playing upon ancient wall and tower, and gilding the 
spire of the cathedral of St. Lazare. A bend to the left brought us into 
Couhard, a straggling group of dishevelled cottages and huts lining the 
Ruisseau de la Toison, that bubbles merrily along the side of the hill. It 
is a dilapidated, picturesque, tangled village, given over to ducks and dirt, 
and to washerwomen, who, like flies in summer, settle upon the running 
waters of France, to wash their toisons d'or. 

"Quite an ancient, conservative, stagnant village," we were saying to our- 
selves; " built beside a Roman burial ground, and itself going its dirty way 
to death " — when, suddenly, we made a discovery. Couhard is not con- 
servative. On the contrary, it is advanced. Before us, on a placard, we 
read : "Association des Femmes de Saone et Loire. Les Femmes doivent 
Voter." And they tell you there is no feminist movement in France! 

Here is the Pierre de Couhard; a gaunt, uncouth, pointed mass of rubble, 
rising from the hill-side, in the midst of a little tangled island — the dust bin 
of the village — where every ill weed grows. 'Tis a characteristic setting for 
a Burgundian monument. 

But the stone is impressive. Inchoate, formless, it yet suggests a lost 
form, that of a corpse long-exposed, or of the mysterious, human-inhuman 
figure, that the mad sculptor, in Andreev's story, hewed out, after he had 
talked with one returned from the dead, and had gazed deep into death's 
basilisk eyes.* 

A close inspection reveals the truth — that the Pierre de Couhard was in 
the form of a quadrangular pyramid upon a cubical base — the lower part faced 
with large blocks of sandstone, the pyramidal portion with limestone. All 
the facing has suffered the usual fate of similar work in France — it formed 
the quarry from which the peasants of Couhard built and maintained their 
village. On the south-east side of the pyramid are two holes, bored about 
the year 1640, with the intention of discovering whether the monument was 
hollow within. + It is now believed to be solid throughout. The Aeduen 
Society, and others, have undertaken excavations at various times; but local 
antiquaries have not yet discovered any cella containing coins or relics that 
determine the date of erection, which, however, M. de Fontenay, with good 
reason, assigns to the reign of Vespasian (a.d. 69-79). 

*See " Lazarus " in " Judas Iscariot " by Andreev. 
+ " Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 216-232. 



20 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

As to the purpose of the Pierre, there is now little reason to doubt that 
it was a memorial stone; a supposition borne out, not only by the shape of 
the monument, but by its position at the summit of the Champs Des Urnes, 
as it is popularly called, the great burial ground which bordered the Roman 
road from Lyons to Autun. 

Curiously enough, the same opinion was adopted, after a long examination 
and discussion, by that mighty hunter, and amateur antiquary, Francis I., 
when he came here, in August, 1521, accompanied by his mother, Louise de 
Savoie, and by his wife, Claude de France. While the ladies visited the 
Churches and Convents, which, to them, were the superior attraction, the 
merry monarch did the round of the Roman monuments, and afterwards 
restored his jaded faculties with a day's hunting in the neighbouring forest of 
Planoise, where he lost himself, and might have passed the night in the 
wilds had he not happened upon the old castle of Porcheresse, whose lord, 
Celse de Traves, led him back to Autun. The delighted populace, anxious 
over their lost king, received him with " chiming bells and flaming torches. "§ 
Yet, however great the preparations and rejoicings with which the in- 
habitants received their monarch — as, five years earlier, they had welcomed his 
predecessor, Charles VIII. — it was neither a flourishing nor a cheerful town 
that Francis looked down upon, from the Pierre de Couhard, on that summer 
day, nearly four hundred years ago. He saw the towers, spires, and gables 
of a medieval city — one might almost say, of two mediaeval cities — built 
upon the ruins of the much larger Roman town, the silent immensity 
of whose shattered walls, palaces, temples, and amphitheatre, dwarfed into 
insignificance the small houses amongst which they stood, and chilled, with 
a nameless fear, the hearts of those who watched the shadows of evening 
falling about them, and heard the spirit voices of the past calling, in the 
moonlight, from among the haunted stones. 

"Ou ses temples estoient a chaque coin de vue 
Les buissons herissez presque y donnent la terreur; 
Ou les riches palais furent, le laboureur 
Y couple ses taureaux pour trainer la charrue."t 



§ "Autun et ses Monuments," " Precis Historique," p. 206-7. 
+ Francois Perrier, poet of the i6th century, quoted in "Autun et ses Monuments," 
from the Memoires of the Societie Eduenne. 



THE ROMAN CITY 21 

Less fortunate than Dijon and other towns of Burgundy, Autun had 
suffered a sequence of disasters. When Francis I. saw the town, neither 
the Roman walls nor the Roman buildings had recovered from the ravages 
of Tetricus, King of the Gauls, who, about the year 269, after a siege of 
seven months, sacked Augustodunum, leaving it in such a pitiable condition 
that the emperor Constantine, when he came from Rome in 310, could not 
restrain his tears at the sight of the wasted country and ruined towns through 
which he had passed; nor could the banners of the corporation, the statues 
of the gods, nor the groups of musicians at the secret corners, blind the 
emperor to the real poverty hidden beneath official pomp.+ 
J Ibid, p. 71-73. 

There is no better spot than the Pierre de Couhard from which to pic- 
ture Augustodunum as it was on that day when Constantine rode through 
the Porte de Rome, now known as the Porte des Marbres, which then stood 
where the cemetery now abutts on to the end of the Rue de la Jambe de 
Bois. Thence the main street of the city, the Voie d'Agrippa, bordered 
by the important and imposing buildings, such as the Temple of Apollo, the 
Schools, the Forum, and the Capitol, ran in a straight line to the Porte 
d'Arroux, nearly in the direction of the Temple of Janus, still faintly visible 
to-day, far away on the plain beyond the river. This Voie d'Agrippa 
roughly bisected the Roman town, all the streets of which were laid out, 
like those of a modern American City, either parallel or at right angles 10 
that axial line. Augustodunum, though it lacked the lovely gables, lofty 
spires, and pleasant disorder of Gothic Autun, must yet have shown to the 
traveller looking back from the road to Rome, a splendid pile of temples and 
palaces and gardens, as his glance wandered from the gleaming marble gates, 
and the flashing dome of the Capitol, to the majestic arches and sculptured 
columns and colonnades of the great arena and lovely theatre, whose ruins 
are yet seen through the avenue of lime trees, above the ivy-crowned stones 
of the ancient enciente.* 

Lovely is this spectacle, even to-day. On the left, to the south-west, the 
mediaeval city, the Castrum, lifts its pile of gabled, palace roofs above the 
sombre firs, and line of bronzed fortresses, walls, and leaf-clad towers that 

* See the interesting map of the Roman City in " Autun et ses Monuments." Roman 
Autun was sacked again by the Saracens in 731 a.d. ; the havoc on that occasion 
being even more complete than that wrought by Tetricus. 



22 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

mark the Roman enceinte. Higher yet, over all, the spires and pinnacles of 
the cathedral of St. Lazare glitter against the background of hills. 

On the way back, our attention was divided between the glories of that 
view, and the " chasse aux poules " or chicken hunt — the one form of 
sport indulged in by the old ladies of a Burgundian village. 

A very few hours in Autun were enough to reveal the fact that this 
largest Gallo-Roman city of Burgundy contains Roman remains as interest- 
ing as any in France, known to me, excepting those of Nimes, Orange, and 
Aries ; while, around two of them — the Temple of Janus* and the Pierre 
de Couhard — there still lingers an element of mystery that renders them 
doubly attractive to the curious mind. 

The " Temple de Janus " lies, as the reader will remember, at the foot 
of Autun, in the meadow beside the Arroux. Its original purpose is doubt- 
ful. M. Viollet le Due held it to be a Fort Detache, built outside the 
ramparts, for the purpose of barring the passage of the river, and command- 
ing the plain, t M. de Fontenay, on the other hand, asserts, — and I venture 
to think proves, — that the building was not designed for military purposes, 
and was, in fact, a temple; though there is no evidence to tell us to which 
deity it was dedicated. § 

M. le Due contends that the tov/er had no door on the ground floor, and 
was entered by means of a ladder; but one of the features that first strike 
any observer who is endeavouring mentally to reconstruct the building, is, 
that, along both remaining walls, between the lower openings and the 
upper windows, run two lines of rectangular holes pierced in the masonry. 
The purpose of those holes, was, undoubtedly, to carry the roof timbers of 
a peristyle, or outer gallery, whose foundations have been unearthed at a 
distance of between five and six metres from the main wall, — a discovery 
which seems at once to demolish M. le Due's theory of entry by ladder. 
The design of the peristyle is not known, nor the order of its architecture; 
but it probably took the ordinary form of a stylobate, or base, columns with 
capitals supporting an entablature, and a sloping roof. The niches on the 
interior sides of the walls, and the traces of red colouring — a mixture of 

* "Dictionnaire Raisonne," Tome 9, p. 68. 
t "Dictionnaire Raisonne," Tome 9, p. 68. 
§ "Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 216-232. 




— .\TenPV£ OP JA MU5 •aotunJ '^ 



24 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

powdered brick and chalk, still easily visible in their more protected parts — 
are further evidence that the tower was indeed a temple. M. de Fontenay 
dates the building, conjecturally, from the founding of Autun. Concern- 
ing its popular name, "Temple of Janus," he has some very interesting 
information to give. 

It appears that, until the 17th century, the tower was known as the "Tour 
de la Genetoie," a term which a local savant took to be a corruption of 
Janitect, " a Jani tecto." This legend was accepted by the historians for 
about the next two centuries, until, in 1843, another Burgundian writer 
reluctantly announced the truth, — that Genetoie did not mean "Temple of 
Janus," but simply, "Champ des balkins " or " genets," the broom known 
to all Englishmen as the device of our Plantagenet kings. So much for the 
Temple of Janus. Whatever may have been its purpose, no one who has 
visited Rome, looking up at the huge, shattered walls, gilded by the sunset, 
standing out against the purple shadows of the hills far away across the 
plain, can fail to recall memories of the Roman Campagna. 

The Roman city of Augustodunum possessed four gates, at the north- 
west, north-east, south-west, and south-east corners of the town, leading to 
the roads for Boulogne, Besan^on, Bourbon L'Archambaud, and Lyons 
respectively. The first and last of these was known also as the "Voie 
d'Agrippa." The gates, taking them in the same order, are known as the 
Porte d'Arroux, the Porte St. Andre, the Porte St. Andoche, and the Porte 
de Rome. The first two of these are still standing; the others have 
disappeared. 

The Porte d'Arroux is distant only a few mintes walk from the Temple of 
Janus, near the river, at the foot of the Faubourg d'Arroux. Incomplete 
though it is, the grace and dignity of the fallen monument yet contrast 
strongly with the squalor of its setting. It is backed, on either side, by a 
medley of disreputable villas, and dilapidated, half-timbered cottages, whose 
squalor is not without charm. To-day hordes of ragged children play beneath 
the arches that once echoed to the roll of chariot wheels, and to the tramp 
of lictors' feet. 

The Porte d'Arroux has four openings for traffic, — two large central 
arches, by which chariots could pass in and out, and two smaller gates, at 
the sides, for foot passengers. Each of the central arches is grooved for a 
portcullis, which some authorities, including M. Viollet le Due, think were 



26 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

not added till the middle ages,+ a supposition that M. de Fontenay seems 
effectually to disprove by pointing out that, since the Roman rampart at that 
period was broken down in many places, any additional defences to the gates 
would have been a useless precaution. 

Autun, in mediaeval times, comprised what were, in effect, two distinct 
towns, both built within the Roman enceinte. These were the Castrum, 
the centre of which was the Cathedral of St. Lazare, and the Marchaux — 
still known by the same name, — in the lower part of the town, north of the 
Place des Champs de Mars. Each of these towns was then sheltered within 
its own walls and towers, of which portions are still in existence. 

The upper part of the gate consisted of a pierced gallery or arcade, of 
ten bays,— seven of them still intact, — forming a Chemin de Ronde, on a 
level with that running along the crest of the Roman wall. This gallery, 
serving the double purpose of ornament and defence, could be closed at any 
time by wooden shutters.* The gate was flanked on either side by two 
rectangular towers (corps de garde) with semicircular apses projecting far 
beyond it, as though — in the phrase of Eumenes, a local historian and 
orator of the late 3rd and early 4th centuries — they were stretching out 
welcoming arms to those about to enter the town.f 

All who are interested in the development of Burgundian architecture, 
should give careful attention to the Porte d'Arroux, which is certainly the 
source of one of the most marked characteristics of the style, — the use of 
the fluted pilasters, which, for some reason or other, seem to have struck the 
fancy of the architects of this part of France. We shall see this arcade 
imitated closely in the triforium gallery of the cathedral of St. Lazare, and 
also influencing, in turn, the churches of Cluny, Paray le Monial, Notre 
Dame de Beaune, and others. 

The masonry of the gate is very finely executed, with close joints, with- 
out mortar, in the manner of the period, and is, on the whole, in a wonder- 
fully good state of preservation. The lower part of the work is quite 
plain. The archivolts, the entablature, including the architrave and the 
frieze, show little ornament; the cornice, however, is richly decorated with 
dentals, palmettes and other designs, as is also the remaining fragment of 

J "Dictionnaire Raisonne," Tome vii., p. 214. Note I. 

* "Dictionnaire Raisonne," Tome vii., p. 314. 

t "Autun et ses Monuments," p. 36. 



THE ROMAN CITY 27 

cornice above the arcade, whose fluted pilasters have beautiful capitals in the 
Corinthian style. 

The other surviving Roman gate, — the Porte St. Andre, — is on the north- 
east boundary of the city, not far from the Porte d'Arroux, by wzy of the 
Faubourg Arroux and the Rue de la Croix Blanche. It is less picturesquely 
situate, and, though very similar, is distinctly inferior to its neighbour in 
design and finish. The central arches are lower, and heavier, while the 
gallery lacks the lightness and grace which are characteristic of the Porte 
d'Arroux, and is, moreover, built in a stone darker and less pleasing to the 
eye than the oolithic limestone of the lower portion. 

M. de Fontenay suggests that this upper part was restored at some later 
and degenerate period of Roman architecture. Certainly the plain pilasters 
are badly designed and carelessly set, while the capitals, of a composite, semi- 
ionic order, appear to be too narrow for their pilasters — not too wide, as stated 
by M. de Fontenay, and also by M. Dechelette in his careful little guide to 
Autun. The Porte St. Andre shows no signs of having been fitted with a 
portcullis. Hamertonf states, no doubt correctly, that the door was barred 
by strong beams inserted into holes and grooves. These are still visible. 

The Porte St. Andre, it should be noted, is one of the most complete 
Roman gates existing in France. The lower portion of one of the flanking 
towers, which rose originally several feet above the attic story of the gate, 
owes its escape from destruction to its shape, which, coinciding with that of 
a typical Romanesque chapel, tempted certain ecclesiastics of the middle ages, 
to dedicate it to St. Andre, as a place for Christian worship.* These flank- 
ing towers comprised three stories. The first communicated with the 
Chemin de Ronde, along the crest of the walls, the second was a vaulted 
chamber, and the third remained open to the sky. Access was obtained by a 
double staircase. 

On the question of the period during which these gates were built, M. de 
Fontenay and Viollet le Due are again at variance, — the latter attributing 
them to the fourth of fifth centuries,^ the former to the reign of Vespasian 
(a.d. 69-79).+ Strange as it may seem that another writer should contradict 

t P. G. Hamerton, The Mount, p. igo. 

* Dechelette, " Guide des Monuments d'Autun," p. lo. 

§"Dictionnaire Raisonne," Tome vii., p. 314. 

X "Autun et ses Monuments," p. 46. 



28 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

continually so eminent an authority as the last-named, the author of 
" Autun et ses Monuments " again has reason on his side, since he can 
refer to the orator Eumenes as describing the gates in the year 311 a.d. 
Moreover, since the Roman walls were admittedly broken down in many 
places during the siege by Tetricus, in the year 269 a.d., — an event of 
which Eumenes was a witness, — and the inhabitants were already beginning 
to retire within the safer precincts of the Citadel; what would be the reason 
for erecting elaborate gates on the line of the ruined wall .? I am not an 
authority upon ancient architecture; but I was certainly astonished to read 
the date given in the "Dictionnaire Raisonne "; and I should be glad to 
know whether other experts support M. le Due's theory. 

Of the two other gates — the Porte St. Andoche, on the south-west, and 
the Porte de Rome on the south-east, in the direction of Lyons, — nothing 
remains except the rectangular portion of one of the lateral towers of the 
former. The loss of the Porte de Rome, or the "Porte des Marbres," as it 
was popularly called, is especially to be regretted, since that name alone 
suggests the truth, of which evidence exists, that it was by far the most 
beautiful of the four. Moreover, it has additional historic interest as being 
the gate by which Constantine entered Autun in 311. 

The old writers agree in describing the Porte des Marbres as a thing of 
beauty, — a quality which was its undoing, as offering an irresistable attrac- 
tion to the Mediaeval and later builders. Several ancient Corinthian 
capitals, not otherwise easily accounted for, are to be seen to-day in 
the porch of the cathedral built at the close of the 12th century. 
It appears, indeed, that around the present site of the Fountain of the 
Pelican was a burial ground named Les Marbres, on account of its richness 
in borrowed sculpture. The site of the gate was known from the 14th 
century onwards as " a Marbres " or " de Marboribus." At the time of 
the construction of the bastion of the Jambe de Bois, the workmen un- 
earthed many marbles, including columns, capitals, and bases of the 
Corinthian or some composite order.* The date of the iinal destruction 
of the Porte des Marbres is uncertain; but its flanking towers, then known 
as the Fors de Marboribus, were still standing in the middle of the 14th 
century. 

Before beginning another chapter, let me speak one word of warning. If 
* "Autun et ses Monuments," pp. cliv., 45 and 414. 



THE ROMAN CITY 29 

you ask one of the humbler inhabitants of Autun where the Porte St. 
Andoche stood, you will be directed, without hesitation, — as we were, — to 
the bank of the river, near the railway station. Having reached that spot 
and crossed the bridge, you will obtain a lovely view of the Roman wall and 
the river beside it, but will fail to iind the remaining tower of the gate, for 
the reason that it is not there. The Porte St. Andoche stood at the foot of 
the Boulevard Schneider, opposite to the Couvent du Sacrement, on the road 
leading, by way of the enceinte, to the Tour des Ursulines. 

The reader may ask why the peasants should misdirect him ? They mis- 
direct him, in this particular instance, because they believe that the gate really 
stood on the town side of the western bridge of the Arroux, in the corres- 
ponding position to that of the Porte d'Arroux. But my point is, that, had 
your informant been utterly ignorant of the supposed whereabouts of the 
gate, he would, very probably, have directed you with almost equal facility. 
The Burgundian peasant is very ignorant; but he is also very proud, — much 
too proud to admit that he does not know the whereabouts of a monument 
that a stranger has come, perhaps, a thousand miles to visit. His swift 
imagination, therefore, promptly creates the site; and he, or she, will tell 
you promptly, volubly, and with much circumstantial detail, exactly how <:o 
get there. In this snare we have been taken many times during our travels 
among the Burgundians. The Proven9als have a different and preferable 
method. They do not invent a site for the monument; they deny its 
existence. Speaking with some experience of the peculiar ways of the 
French peasant in such matters, my advice to the gentle stranger is — not to 
trust him. Get the best guide and map that you can find in the local 
librairie; and rely on them, and on your own intelligence. You may then, 
when you are at fault, consult the passer by as to details, letting your judg- 
ment decide whether, in his particular case, he is to be trusted. 

If it be a Chateau that you are seeking, you must be doubly careful. To 
a French peasant many a tiny cottage is a "fine house " (belle maison), and 
almost every modern house, of any pretentions at all, is a chateau. To us, 
on the contrary, a chateau means a castle; usually an ancient one. 

Many a time has a blue-shirted peasant looked up from his work by the 
road side, to address me somewhat as follows : 

"The Chateau de Bon Espoir ; Certainly, Monsieur, 'tis there, three 
kilometres away, up the hill, tout droit en montant."* 



Straight ahead as you go up. 



30 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

We climb the three kilometres, wander about for an hour, and return 
disconsolate. The labourer, hearing the whirr of bicycle wheels, looks up 
again. 

"M'sieur et Dame have found the Chateau ? " 

"No, Monsieur. They told us up tlrere that the ancient Chateau de Bon 
Espoir was on the other side of the valley to the north." 

"Oh ! that one ? That's only an old rviin. I thought you meant rhe 
chateau de Monsieur Pigot." 

"No. Who is Monsieur Pigot?" 

"Monsieur Pigot, 'Sieur Dame, is the proprietor of the grand magasin 
du Louvre at Paris. He has a lovely chateau, up there where you went. 
They would have let you in if you had gone up the drive." 

"We are sorry we missed it. Good day. Monsieur." 

The " lovely chateau " was a terrible erection of red brick and stone, 
defiling the landscape for a mile around. 





TnC ROMAN 



ir 



CHAPTER III 

Leaving the Hotel St.Loui's, about which I shall have more to say later on, 
and passing along the Rue de I'Arquebus, you emerge upon an open space, 
where stands a statue to a Gaulish chieftain with whom we have already 
made acquaintance — the Druid, Divitiacus. 

It may be heresy on my part, but I must admit that I have very little sym- 
pathy with the French passion for erecting statues of known or unknown 
persons, in every public place, quite irrespective of any ulterior considera- 
tions, such as whether such a monument is in any way expressive of the 
celebrity's particular talent or genius, or whether modern garments in carved 
stone are desirable in a " Place," often bordered with the most beautiful 
examples of Gothic or Renaissance architecture. 

Many an open space in the ancient cities of France might have been 
spared such an indignity, had the French people cared to remember that, in 
the absence of a more worthy memorial— such as a house that can be lived 
in — a wall-tablet is sufficient for all practical purposes. M. Emile 
Montegut, in his " Souvenirs de Bourgogne," has very justly satirized the 
French idiosyncracy; but France in general, and Burgundy in particular, 
still bristles with unnecessary statues. 

The memorial of Divitiacus, however, is an exception to the general 
rules, for the figure is a successful and spirited piece of work, showing the 
Druid, bareheaded, pointing down the Roman Road. His helmet lies it 
his feet, and he carries a shield on which a battle scene is engraved. The 
figure stands upon a historic site; for here, on the west side of the Voie 



32 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

d'Agrippa, joining gate with gate, stood three of the most important build- 
ings of the Roman city, — the Temple of Apollo, the Schools, and the 
Capitol. 

The Aedui had always conceived of Apollo as surrounded by the Muses. 
He was their God of poetry, of youth, of joy, of prosperity, and of beauty; 
he was the healer and enlightener; to him the woods and streams were 
consecrate in the days 

" When holy were the haunted forest boughs, 
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;" 

In the third century the Healer was already the most venerated of the 
Roman divinities in the hierarchy of Augustodunum, and his temple was 
probably the most important of them all, until 270, when it fell, with many 
another Roman temple and palace, before the hordes of Tetricus. 

The Emperor Constantius Chlorus, however, decided that the temples 
should rise again; and it appears, from the records of Eumenes, that, by the 
end of the third century, the house of " Apollo Noster " was restored to 
more than its former beauty. The house was restored; but not the cult. 
Influences more powerful than the decree of Constance Chlore, or of 
Constantine, were at work within the Roman city. Every year, meaner 
gifts were offered, fewer vows were made before the Temple of Apollo; 
every year more citizens — at first in fearful secrecy, later with open 
enthusiasm — worshipped the Carpenter of Nazareth. 

Excavations have revealed the substructure of the circular building which 
as generally accepted as having been the Temple of Apollo. The character 
of the remains, shewing that strings of bricks were used in the construction 
of the building,* point to the reign of Constantius Chlorus, or of his son 
Constantine, t as the probable date. Readers familiar with the Roman 
buildings of Aries, will recognise the same architectural feature in the Palace 
of Constantine in that town. 

The great schools of Autun, the Ecoles M^niennes, as they were called, 
were probably situate between the Temple of Apollo and the Capitol, just 
below the site of the present Sous-prefeture. They appear to have been 
well known throughout the Roman Empire; for TacitusJ mentions the 

*" Autun et ses Monuments," p. 151. 

t Constantius Chlorus died 306 A.D. Constantine reigned from 306 — 337. 

t " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 160. 



THE ROMAN CITY 33 

capital of the Aedui as a place where the children of the Gaulish nobility 
were wont to apply themselves eagerly to the study of the liberal arts, 
while Eumenes speaks of them as " a sanctuary consecrated to instruction 
and eloquence, a very home of literature; for," says he, " the study of 
letters is the foundation of all the virtues; they are, indeed, a school of tem- 
perance, of modesty, of vigilance, of patience; and when all these virtues 
are implanted as a habit in the heart of childhood, they penetrate, like a 
vigorous sap, all the functions of civil life, and even those which seem to oe 
in opposition to it, I mean the charges and duties of military life." § 

Many men, celebrated in their day, must have attended these schools, 
which seem to have retained their popularity well into the third century, 
though, at the time of their destruction in the catastrophy of 270 a.d., 
they may, perhaps, have been living, to a certain extent, upon their past 
glories. We do not know much concerning their architecture; but Eumenes 
says they were known as a monument of imposing beauty, and adds this 
interesting detail — that " the buildings were surrounded by galleries or por- 
ticos, in which the students could see every day the extent of all the lands 
and of all the seas, the towns restored by the goodwill of the invincible 
emperors, the nations conquered by their valour, and the barbarous coun- 
tries chained by the terror of their arms. There were shewn the name and 
situation of each country, its extent, its relative distance, the source and out- 
fall of each river, the windings of the banks, and the circuits of the sea 
which washes the continents and the shores of the countries swept by its 
impetuous movement. The whole universe was there pictured. There 
were to be seen the two rivers of Persia, the parched regions of Lybia, the 
joined branches of the Rhine, and the many mouths of the Nile." * 

The schools had been named after these galleries, on whose walls or 
ceilings the young nobles of Gaul could learn all that was known of the 
world of their day, that is to say, the whole of the Roman Empire. 
Maeniana, — in French, M^nienne, — means a construction projecting from 
the front of an edifice, an exterior gallery or balcony, which appears to have 
been so common a characteristic of the schools of Augustodunum, that the 
term Maeniana came to be applied to them generally, f In 270 a.d. the 

§ Ibid, p. 161. 
* " Autun et ses MonumentSj" p. 165. 
t Ibid, p. 167. 



34 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

schools suffered the general fate, and the scholars, henceforth, had to be 
accommodated in separate quarters. Eumenes talked of restoring the por- 
ticos, and repainting the map of the world; but, probably, the work was 
never carried out, and the schools remained in their shattered state, even 
after the adjoining buildings — the Temple of Apollo and the Capitol — had 
been restored to something of their former glory. 

The Capitol" was probably the building whose foundations, circular on 
plan, have been traced to the garden of the Hospice St. Gabriel, beside the 
Ecoles Meniennes, and fronting also upon the great central street leading 
from gate to gate. Authorities appear to have differed considerably on this 
point; but many Corinthian capitals, fragments of entablatures, statuettes, 
groups of goddesses, etc., have been found on this site, suggesting that it was 
once occupied by a building of great importance,! decorated as one would 
expect of such a temple, and dedicated, as the Capitol was, to the principal 
divinities of the official hierarchy. Eumenes, moreover, states that the 
Capitol was situate beside the schools. M. de Fontenay, however, thinks 
that, possibly, the Capitol may have occupied the other circular site, now 
attributed to the Temple of Apollo; and, conversely, that the latter building 
should be placed below the schools. 



Not far from this centre of Roman civilization, beyond the shady 
plantation of plane trees, the Promenade des Marbres, dotted with seats of 
Roman stone, and stretching eastward from the statue of Divitiacus, you 
will find, if you follow the Faubourg des Marbres, on the right side of the 
downward slope, a board with the legend " Caves Joyaux." Then, turning 
up the path to the right, passing a hideous modern cottage devoted principally 
to " tir," from the walls of which the counterfeit presentments of dead 
citizens look out stonily upon you from the Roman stele, you will come 
upon a grassy, semi-circular terrace, planted with lime trees, whose green 
banks slope down towards a smaller semi-circle of sward below. 

Beyond it lies a broad expanse of allotment garden, in which peasant 
women are bending over their crops. Standing among the leaves, that, on 
this bright autumn day, are fluttering upon the grass, and looking down more 

J Ibid, pp. 152—158. 



THE ROMAN CITY 



35 



closely into the semi-circle, one observes irregularities in the surface of the 
horseshoe, lines suggestive of terracing; strangely shaped, hollow, grassy 
boulders that seem to have shouldered their way up from below. Here, at 
the end of the curve, is a mass of broken stone; there a black shadow below 
the revealed head of an arch projecting from the weed-entangled debris. 

The reader will have guessed his whereabouts. This is, or was, the 
Roman theatre. Upon those heavy shoulders rested the marble seats; there 
were the entrances and exits by which the spectators passed to and from the 
staircases and corridors. From the flat semi-circle below us, the chorus 
chanted their melodious comments upon the play that was being enacted on 
the stage where npw the women are at work. 







There are those who will tell you that the Theatre is not worth the 
trouble of a visit, — that it has lost all charm. I cannot agree. On the 
contrary, ruined though the monument is, hardly one stone of it left upon 
another, there is nothing more impressive to be seen in Autun; for the 
general contour of the building is so preserved, that, for any person in the 
least degree familiar with the forms of these monuments, no great effort of 



36 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

the imagination is needed to restore the play-house to some of its ancient 
glory, and to re-people it with the voices of the past. Moreover, the 
spectator, though he cannot see the graceful columns, that, probably, as Jt 
Aries, rose from the back of the stage, nor the sculptured frieze, nor the 
marble capitals and statues that adorned the proscenium., nor the arcaded 
gallery that crowned the upper rows of seats, though he may not follow with 
the eye the distant white roads of Vesentio and Agrippa; yet still his glance 
can range over the same landscape that met the Roman of old, the near fields 
and meadows, the distant uplands and gloomy forest lit by the rising sun. 

Still more impressive must the theatre be, when moonlight has shed her 
revealing mystery over the terraces of this forsaken garden. 

Tradition has it, that, until the latter part of the 17th century, a con- 
siderable portion of the Roman theatre was still standing; and M. de 
Fontenay gives a very interesting sketch of the ruins in 16 10, show- 
ing that soil and debris had not then obliterated the tiers of seats, and that 
the fore-part and the arcaded gallery of the semi-circle were still in 
existence. § This comparatively happy condition of affairs might have 
endured until to-day, but for an unfortunate temptation that overcame 
Gabriel de Roquette, Bishop of Autun, in 1675, to make use of the Roman 
theatre as a quarry for the new seminary he was building. It was a deed 
doubly inexcusable, because, at so late a period, after the publication of 
Eden Thomas' book, and others dealing with the subject, he had no longer 
the commonly-urged excuse that no interest was taken in the ancient 
monuments of Autun.* It is quite possible, however, that we are blaming 
the bishop needlessly. After the fate of Cluny, who shall say of what a 
Frenchman is not capable, when the lust of destruction is upon him i* 

The theatre of Autun was 147m. 80. in diameter, the largest in Gaul, 
and the fourth largest of the known buildings of the kind; coming imme- 
diately after that of Bacchus at Athens, and those of Ephesus and Smyrna, f 
The orchestra was paved in red marble, and the stage lined with white 
marble veined with red. The exterior arcades of the hemi-cycle were 
formed of large blocks, the space between ornamented with paterae. Anfert's, 
the oldest description we have, dating from the 17th century, mentions that 

t Ibid, p. 189. 
§"Autun et ses Monuments." Facing p. 181, 
* " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 183. 



THE ROMAN CITY 37 

the circumference of the theatre is broken by several chambers and sub- 
terranean passages; these chambers are vaulted; they are seven or eight feet 
wide, and known as " Caves Jolliot." f 

This brings us back to the legend " Caves Joyaux," which greeted our 
approach to the theatre. Up to the end of the i6th century, the remains 
appear to have been known as the " Grotto " (Grottes), an interesting 
example of the extraordinary vulgarity of popular nomenclature. Later, 
a certain worthy Autunois, whose line of business has not come down to js 
with his name, decided that these vaulted chambers would suit him excellent- 
ly as a domicile. No doubt his venture proved successful, for the Grotto 
soon became known as the " Cellier Jolyot," or " Caves Jolyot," a name 
which, in the form of " Caves Joyaux," still passes current among the 
vulgar of Autun.+ This is by no means the first time that the substructure 
of a Roman monument has been dubbed " cellars " by an indiscriminating 
public. 

For us the Roman theatre was more than a historic relic, — it was our 
favourite lunching place in Autun ! However severe a shock the admis- 
sion may be to some of my readers, I admit boldly, that never, during 
all our travels in France, do we, if we can avoid it, lunch either in restaurant 
or hotel. To go twice a day, with credit, through the six courses of a 
French dejeuner and dinner, is a gastronomic effort of which we confess 
ourselves wholly incapable; consequently, before setting forth on our day's 
excursion, we may be seen passing into the epicerie, boulangerie, or other 
boutique of the village street, whence, our pockets bulging with sundry small 
paper parcels, we emerge, amid the not wholly disinterested curiosity of all 
the old ladies who have been eyeing us from door and window during our 
journey down the street. 

The custom of picnic lunches is one that I recommend to all travellers in 
Burgundy, including those to whom the saving of a five-pound note, at the 
end of a month's holiday, is a matter of no moment whatever. The 
Burgundians feed more richly, perhaps, than any other people of Europe, and 
their dinners, like the country's monuments — rich rather than dainty — need a 
healthy appetite to do them justice. Further, the secrecy that these picnic 
methods necessarily involve — for you cannot proclaim your intention to a 

t " Autun et ses Monuments," p. i8i. 
t " Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 178 — 179. 



38 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



maitre d'hotel, whose 
things appointed for 
curiosity of the lady 
how you lunched. 



luncheon tables groan beneath their burden of good 
you to eat, — will titillate deliciously the insatiable 
his wife, who passes hours in wondering where and 

" Monsieur et Dame will not be in to 
lunch to-day ? " 
" No, Madame." 

" Monsieur et Dame were not in to lunch 
yesterday." 

" No, Madame." A pause, during which 
our hostess, screwing up her courage for the 
plunge, eyed us with a glance, half-timid, half- 
amused. 
h^ " Where did Monsieur et Dame lunch 

'i -^ yesterday?" The speaker looked at my wife; 
^ my wife looked at me. I looked innocently 

at Madame. 

" On a wall, Madame." Madame's eye- 
brows rose slightly. She could make nothing 
of it. 

" But it was raining all day yesterday, 
Monsieur!" 

" Not on the wall, Madame. The fact is, 

we never lunch at an hotel — even when it 

rains." 

" Vous faites bien " was what she said to us. What she said to her 

husband, an hour later, I leave to the reader to guess. But we parted 

excellent friends. 

These picnic lunches, of course, are rather scrappy. Things get blown 
away sometimes, or are fastened upon by ants. II faut souflrir pour bien 
vivre. 

While I have been writing these notes, my wife has left the bench ot 
Roman stone that is our table, and is seated on the grass half way down 
towards the orchestra, where she is exercising her not inconsiderable powers 
of imagination in recreating the traditions of the spot. Also she is proving, 
unwittingly, the excellent acoustic properties of the natural theatre, con- 




THE ROMAN CITY 39 

structed in the Greek, rather than in the Roman method; that is to say, by 
hollowing out of the hill, not building up upon the plain. The keeper of 
the buvette told us that a play is to be given in the theatre next June (191 1) 
and "a little bull-fight." 

Going back to the hotel that day, we noticed, among the crisp leaves ot 
the Promenade des Marbres, many a handful of confetti, — souvenirs of the 
great fair or festival of St. Lazare, that, for nearly the whole of September, 
disturbs the tranquillity of Autun. Let the traveller, therefore, see the 
Roman city before September, or after it. 

The stone benches beneath the trees of the Promenade des Marbres, 
placed there about 1765, appear to have been taken from another of the most 
important Roman monuments of Autun, the Amphitheatre, a building which, 
in the middle ages, was known by the same name as its neighbour, the 
Theatre, and suffered a similar fate. It was situate to the north of the 
Caves Joyaux, close to the wall of the town, in such a position that the 
Faubourg des Marbres nearly bisects its site. Not very much is known 
concerning it; but its dimensions have been determined by excavations that 
prove it to have been the largest of the known amphitheatres of France, 
as it is of Burgundy as a whole. 

Here are the figures, compared with those of the Arenes of Aries and 
Nimes, both of which still exist. § 

Large diameter. Small diameter. 

Autun 154 metres 130 metres. 

Aries 140 metres.28 ... 103 metres.20. 

Nimes 135 metres.27 ... 105 metres.Sy. 

M. de Fontenay publishes in his work, a drawing which shows that, in 
1610, there remained of the amphitheatre two parallel, vaulted arcades; but 
he does not venture on an attempt to reconstruct the building. It appears 
that, by the i8th century, all trace of the construction had vanished, except 
the oval site, which, being at a lower level than the surrounding land, is still 
popularly known as the Crot-Volu (Creux Volu), the latter name being 
that of a 14th century family who occupied part of it.* One of the 
most significant discoveries made among the ruins was that of the skull of 
a lion, probably the victim of a gladiator. It is supposed that the amphi- 

§ " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 193. 
* Ibidj p. 196. 



40 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

theatre was built contemporaneously with the theatre, and, in the year of the 
siege, suffered the same fate, 

A walk round the quiet roads and avenues of this outlying portion of 
Autun, and half an hour spent on the grassy slopes of the theatre, cannot 
fail to impress the most casual observer with a sense of the grandeur and 
extent of the Roman city. Modern Autun is a town of respectable dimen- 
sions; but here, within the Roman Enceinte, the few dwelling houses stand 
isolated among their own gardens; and ancient, immemorial trees cast their 
shadows over quiet spots once resounding with the hum and rumour of 
Roman life. 

All those who would visualize Burgundian history will be grateful that, 
in spite of the destructive enmity of her foes, and the scarcely less destructive 
ignorance and folly of certain of her inhabitants, enough of Augustodunum 
is left to enable us to group round her our mental pictures of this part of 
Gallo-Roman Burgundy. 





CHAPTER IV 



After two or three days among the relics of Pagan civilization, we were 
ready to turn our attention to Christian monuments of the town, and it was 
with our expectations fully aroused that we left what might be described 
as the neutral ground of the Hotel St. Louis, and climbed the busy streets 
that lead within the castrum to the Cathedral of Saint Lazarus, in which 
the relics of the saint are enshrined. 

Readers unfamiliar with the Provencal legends will ask, not unnaturally, 
how the body of Christ's friend came to the city of Autun. The answer is 
that, according to tradition, Lazarus, Martha, Mary, and others, driven from 
Palestine after the crucifixion of Christ, and cast adrift in an open boat, were 
blown, on the wings of a great wind, westward across the Mediterranean, 
and eventually, by miraculous aid, were cast ashore, unhurt, on the coast of 
Provence. This land they proceeded to evangelize, Lazarus finding his way 
to Marseilles, of which city he became the first bishop, f 

Nearly a thousand years later, at the end of the lOth century, the body 
was translated to Autun, through the efforts of one Gerrard, the then 
bishop, and was housed in the basilica of St. Nazaire. So holy a relic 
naturally demanded a worthy shrine, and already, during the first quarter of 
the 1 2th century, we find proposals on foot for the erection of a new 

t " Impressions of Provence," pp. ii8 — 121. 



42 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

church for the housing of the body. Hamerton, indeed, says that the work 
was planned in the nth century; the original idea being due to Robert I,, 
Duke of Burgundy. + This building, the existing cathedral of St. Lazarus, 
begun in 1 1 20, was ready for consecration by Pope Innocent II. when he 
passed through Autun, in 1132. 

Although the work was not completed at this time, the porch, in par- 
ticular, being wanting, the Bishop of Autun resolved to take advantage oi 
the great gathering of Vezelay, for the preaching of the second crusade, to 
announce the translation of the relics. King Louis vii. attended in person, 
and the ceremony was performed with great eclat, on Sunday, October 20th, 
1 146. Four weeks of continuous rain had given place to warm sunshine, 
and enormous crowds of pilgrims gathered to celebrate the event, among 
whom were Eudes ii., Duke of Burgundy, and many bishops and nobles. 
After the all-night ceremonies which preceded the principal function, two 
stonemasons, says the old chronicle, were taken into the church to effect the 
opening of the tomb. The stone was raised, the vault exposed, and, to the 
sound of the te deum, those present pressed forward to venerate the relics. 

At the conclusion of the ceremony, followed with the fervent religious 
emotion characteristic of the time, Humbert de Bage wrapped the body 
of St. Lazarus, together with the winding-sheet and the deerskin bag which 
covered it, in a silken covering, and with new straps bound the precious 
bundle upon a wooden bearer destined for the solemn translation. Mean- 
while, outside the church, an immense crowd was awaiting admission. Soon 
the pressure became so great that the gates of the church were forced, and 
the mob broke in with such violence that the iron grill barring the sanc- 
tuary would have been broken, had it not been supported by sheer muscular 
effort on the part of the clerks. " Eudes, Duke of Burgundy, William, 
Count of Chalon, and other brave nobles, each hurriedly putting down his 
chlamys, and arming himself with sword or stick, began to cut and thrust, 
right and left, among the crowd, to open a passage for the cortege, which, 
with great pomp, was transporting the holy relics to the church of St. 
Lazarus. This church, too, v/as so gorged with humanity, that the 
bearers, breathless with fatigue and fright, and despairing of ever reaching 
the altar, set down their precious burden upon some wooden planks, where 
it long remained in the middle of the nave." 

tP. G. Hamerton. "The Mount," p. 115. 
* " Autun et ses Monuments." 



THE ROMAN CITY 43 

During the whole of the following week, the crowd surged round the 
holy relics, and miraculous cures followed one another with such rapidity 
that the priests engaged in chanting Te Deums, in gratitude for each healing, 
were unable to keep pace with the calls made upon them. While prayer, 
praise, and cries of " Miracle!" were resounding through the church, blood 
was being shed freely outside. A trivial quarrel between some nobles had 
strewn the neighbouring streets with wounded men.+ Such contrasts were 
a common feature of the age. 

The tomb of Lazarus occupied a position in the apse, behind the great 
altar. According to the evidence of an eye-witness, it was a monument of 
unusual magnificence, built in the form of a church, constructed ci 
porphyry, and black and white marble. Its sculpture comprised a recumbent 
figure of Lazarus, in his winding-sheet, with Christ's word, written below 
it, " Lazare veni foras (Lazarus, come forth)." Among other figures were 
those of Christ, Saint Peter, Saint Paul, and, before the head of Lazarus, two 
statues in stone representing Martha and Mary, one of them lifting to her 
nose a handkerchief, recalling the " jam foetet " (by this time he stinketh) 
of the Gospel story. This priceless monument, interesting to all, doubly 
interesting to those who believe that it did, indeed, house the relics 
of the friend of Christ, was destroyed during the course of improvements 
carried out in the choir of the cathedral during the 1 8th century; but three 
of the figures — those of St. Andrew, Martha and Mary, are still preserved in 
the little Mus^e Lapidaire of Autun, of which collection they are the gems. 
A glance at them reveals the fact that, even at this early epoch, the art of 
sculpture was well developed in Autun. The rapt expression of the coun- 
tenances, the graceful lines of the draperies, the comparative delicacy of the 
execution, without sacrifice of strength, recall something of the Graeco- 
Roman tradition, that probably had never perished wholly from the Roman 
city. That these figures, the work of one Martin, were the result of no 
mere sporadic outbreak of genius is proved, I think, by the rapport they bear 
with the work of Geraldus, which, when seen in the apse of the Mus^e, 
they instantly recall. 

But before succumbing to the attractions of that unique porch of the 
cathedral of Autun, we could not resist the temptation to get a 

t " Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 143 — 147. For full description of the tomb of 

Lazarus, see p. 148. 



44 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

first general impression of a building which, we had always been 
told, was one of the best to be found, even in this land of beauti- 
ful Romanesque churches. The exterior effect, however, is not en- 
tirely satisfactory, especially if the approach be made by one of the streets 
leading up from the middle of the town. The western towers are, indeed, 
still Romanesque; but they have been re-handled, not too happily; and the 
unity of the whole has been lost by the substitution, for the Romanesque 
work, of Gothic side chapels, and pierced parapets of varying designs, with 
a profusion of mediaeval and classical ornament, in the spandrels and below 
the parapets, all utterly at variance with the simple grandeur of the original 
building. Moreover the north-east door, in the tympanum of which was a 
magnificent piece of sculpture representing the raising of Lazarus, has been 
replaced by a heavy production, of the revolution period, in the latest and 
ugliest classical style. The 15th century spire, — a beautiful piece of work, 
somewhat after the manner of that of Lichfield Cathedral, — has a rather 
squat appearance from this lower side of the church. Its grace and lightness, 
and the harmony of its proportions, are better seen from the higher lane to 
the south-east; but the finish of the spire, is not, in my judgment, wholly 
successful. The crocketing is somewhat overdone, and the decoration 
rather fussy in treatment. 

The original Romanesque tower, which was probably in some danger of 
collapse, was at last destroyed by fire. Cardinal Rolin, brother of Nicholas 
Rolin, whom we shall meet later on, rebuilt the new tower in 1480, The 
state of the foundations necessitated lightness for the new work, which relies 
for its security almost wholly upon excellence of construction. The spire, 
built without any internal support whatever, is said to be only seven inches 
thick at the base, and six towards the summit. § Towards the close of the 
13th century, probably, the walls of the nave, threatening to collapse under 
the vault, were supported by flying buttresses surmounted by heavy pinnacles. 
These additions, lightened during the 15th century, almost complete the 
transformation of the exterior effect from that of a Romanesque to a late 
Gothic church. 

The greatest glory of Autun Cathedral, is its magnificent two-storied, 
barrel vaulted, open porch with aisled bays, forming the western entrance. 
In the tympanum of the door is the famous sculpture by Geraldus, respresent- 

§ P. G. Hamerton. " The Mount," p. 167. 



THE ROMAN CITY 45 

ing the Last Judgment. Standing at the foot of the noble flight of steps 
leading up to the stately hall, where of old the lepers, and the horde of un- 
clean, torn between the love of life and its miseries, must have trembled and 
hoped before that awful vision of judgment, we first realised that here is one 
of the most majestic and impressive ante-chambers that Burgundy, or France, 
ever built at the gates of her houses of God. 

This porch owes its existence indirectly to Clunisian influence, and 
directly to the cult of Saint Lazarus. Among the thousands of pilgrims 
drawn every year, for solace or for healing, to the sacred tomb, were many 
ladres, or lepers, whose admission to the interior of the church would have 
been a menace to the public health. Under these circumstances, the 
Chapter obtained from Hugues III., Duke of Burgundy, in 1178, permission 
to construct a porch, on the condition that it should not be of a military 
character.* This work was duly carried out; but it must not be supposed 
that the original was as we see it now. The first porch did not extend as far 
as the two side doors, but comprised a vault supported on two walls, whose 
position is now represented by two pairs of columns. The ground adjoining 
was levelled up to the porch, and the entrance was through an arch pierced 
in the eastern wall.f Some years later, as the cult of St. Lazarus increased, 
the porch was modified to its present design. The magnificent flight or 
steps, built in the i8th century, was the only improvement that the colossal 
foolishness of the revolutionary iconoclasts succeeded in effecting in the 
cathedral. 

The upper storey of the porch, and the niche in the facade above it, is 
also interesting, as being entirely characteristic of the architecture of this 
part of France, though limited to a very short period, from about 11 30 to 
1200.+ In the 13th century, with the advent of developed Gothic, these 
appendages disappear. 

The magnificent central doorway, taken as a whole, is the best example 
of its kind, both as regards design and sculpture, to be seen in Burgundy, 
with the exception of Vezelay, which, politically, belongs rather to the 
Nivernais than to the land of the Dukes. 

The God in Judgment of the tympanum, one of the most ancient and 

* " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 153. 
t Dictionnaire Raisonn6, V. le Due, torn : vii., p. 275. 
X Dictionnaire Raisonn^, V. le Due, torn : vii., p. 278. 



46 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



'X\ 



iKi 



complete of the many examples of the subject to be seen in France, is 
striking, terrifying almost, in vigour, in that dramatic power which, even 
so early, was one of the marked characteristics of Burgundian sculpture. 

With hands outstretched He sits between the 
/r\_ elect and the damned. On His left, in the 

place of torment, the sinners, weighed in the 
angel balance, and found wanting, are handed 
over, for torment, to the powers of darkness, 
whose bony claws, reaching down, fasten upon 
more victims from a sinful world. The hideous 
malignity upon the faces of these tormentors, the 
twisted, tortured postures of the despairing vic- 
tims, all heighten the effect, and contrast strongly 
with the still somewhat rigid, though easier, lines 
of the other picture, where mighty angels are 
lifting into a heavenly mansion the spirits of the 
redeemed. 

Not less effective, probably, in execution and 
symbolism, was the figure of the door-post upon 
ill Mil fX^fA'^lll which rests this early conception of the world's 

^/L Mm } v^^^yil' destiny. Here was Lazarus, who triumphed 

over death, and beside him, his sisters, Martha 
and Mary, symbols of two aspects of personal 
service. The original statues were destroyed at 
the Revolution, but the lines of their substitutes, 
among the most successful niodern imitations 
that I know, have still, in form and drapery, 
something of Helenic delicacy, suggesting that 
the original sculptor's eye was lit by the dying 
radiance of Grecian art, or by the herald beams 
of an earlier, unremembered Renaissance. The 
author of this ancient sculpture is known. He 
has written his name above the lintel : "Gisil- 
bertus hoc fecit." 

I need not enumerate all the other subjects of 
the carvings on this beautiful porch; the reader 

ST. LAZARE. 



i]m\i 



r- 



THE ROMAN CITY 47 

will not have any difficulty in discovering some of them for himself — Jerome 
and his Lion; Hagar and Ishmael driven out by Abraham; Balaam and the 
Ass; the Presentation in the Temple; and, on the archivolt, the signs of the 
Zodiac. 

It is curious that Voltaire appears to have had some influence, good and 
bad — the good was involuntary — over the destiny of this porch of Autun. 
While staying at the Chateau of Montjeu, where he attended the marriage 
of the Due de Richelieu, he condescended to visit the cathedral, and so 
ridiculed the barbarism of its architecture, and especially of its sculptured 
adornments, that the Canons had the whole of the great tympanum plastered 
over, to hide the composition of the Last Judgment. In doing this, they 
preserved it from damage during the Revolution, and it remained so hidden 
for seventy years. § Eventually, after its existence had been entirely for- 
gotten, an intelligent inhabitant of the city suspected that there might be 
carving beneath the plaster, and made the great discovery. 

One glance round the interior of the church is sufficient to show that, in 
spite of the loss of unity caused by the addition of a Flamboyant Gothic 
Jube, and Gothic side chapels, we have here the best of lower Burgundian 
churches, modelled on Cluny, and comprising all the characteristics of the 
classical Romanesque style; although the pointed arches of the bays of the 
nave, and of the high vault, not quite a barrel vault, might lead some people 
to suppose, wrongly, that the church is essentially Gothic. The fluted 
pilasters on the piers, a feature which we shall see repeated in many a church 
hereabouts, and the triforium gallery, imitated obviously from the arcade of 
the Porte d'Arroux, with further fluted pillars between pierced arches, and 
the cornice above, all show how persistent was the influence of the Roman 
tradition. Another feature that strikes one immediately is the stunted 
height of the triforium and clerestory, a fact easily accounted for when we 
remember that the Burgundians of the I2th century, while they liked a 
lofty first storey, had not developed the art of buttressing sufficiently well to 
enable them to lift their vaults very high. Even so the settlement, in an 
outward direction, above the springing of the aisle arches, is very noticeable, 
and, as we have already seen, necessitated the insertion of flying buttresses 
to prevent collapse within two hundred years of their erection. 

Yet, despite these drawbacks, an observer, standing in one of the transepts, 

§ P. G. Hamerton. "The Mount," p. 171. 



48 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

and looking across at the other transept, and down the nave, cannot but be 
struck by the grandeur of the whole effect; by the lightened solidity, the 
well-tempered massiveness which is characteristic of Burgundian architecture, 
as it is of Burgundy as a whole. 

I am not one of those who consider that the building art of the I2th 
century, here or elsewhere, can ever rival the developed Gothic in inspiring 
power, as a setting for, or as a symbol of, the mystical spirit of Christianity, 
and I think that this opinion applies especially to the work of these Bur- 
gundian architects, whose adherence to classic detail must inevitably recall, 
to cultured minds, the Hellenic myths with which they are historically asso- 
ciated, and carry down an architectural tradition of horizontal effect, utterly 
at variance with the dominance of vertical line that was to be one of the 
main characteristics of 13th century development. 

This clashing of two styles, however, has been tempered in Autun 
Cathedral by the insertion at the transepts, between the piers, of round shafts 
which carry the eye up to the vault, and break the severity of the square 
angles of the crossing. 

The top of the little spiral staircase in the north transept, is the best 
place from which to see the detail of the triforium arcade, the decoration of 
the archivolts, and the band of roses above them. Here, too, is to be had 
a good view of the domed vault. 

The eastern end of the cathedral has no ambulatory, but is in the form 
of a circular apse, with eastern chapels. In the 15th and i6th centuries 
were carried out the drastic changes that have completely altered the 
character of the exterior, and destroyed the unity of the cathedral. At this 
time the Romanesque apse underwent considerable modifications; and, two 
centuries later, further futile improvements were made. The western 
towers were practically rebuilt and domed; the Last Judgment in the porch 
was mutilated and covered with plaster, and — crowning feat of all — the 
magnificent tomb of Lazarus, by Brother Martin, which had sheltered for 
600 years the relics of Autun's patron saint, was utterly destroyed. Lastly, 
these imbecile clergy of the 1 8th century, lined the apse, nearly up to the 
walls of the comparatively new Gothic windows, with panels of red Sicilian 
marble, divided by columns of grey, antique marble, and adorned them 
with gilded capitals, fat cherubs, and other utterly incongruous ornaments. 
It is generally believed that a portion of this marble was taken from the 



THE ROMAN CITY 49 

tomb of Lazarus, which they used as a quarry, and the remainder from the 
Roman ruins. 

The capitals of the church, — among the best of their period existing in 
France — are typically Burgundian in their animation and vigour, their rich- 
ness of detail, and their freedom of treatment, both as regards figures and 
foliage. They are at too high an elevation, and not sufficiently well 
lighted, to be studied thoroughly from below; but they are full of interest; 
and any enthusiast who is well versed in these matters, can pass a very 
pleasant hour in making more or less successful guesses at the subjects 
illustrated. Here are some of them. On the south-west side : The body of 
Saint Vincent guarded by Eagles; The History of Simon the Magician; The 
Washing of Feet; The Martyrdom of Stephen; The Ark on Mount 
Ararat; The History of Judas. On the north-east side : The Birth of the 
Virgin; The Sacrifice of Isaac; Saint Joakim in the Desert; The Hebrews 
in the Furnace; Daniel in the Lions' Den; Christ on the Roof of the 
Temple; The Resurrection; The Visit of the Magi to Herod; The Flight 
into Egypt.* 

The few monuments to be found in the cathedral are not of great interest. 
The best are the kneeling statues which originally formed part of the 
Gothic tomb of Pierre Jeannin, the famous Minister of Henry the Fourth, 
and of his wife. The tomb, now destroyed, v/as by Nicolas Guillain, about 
the year 1626; but M. de Fontenay thinks that the bust of Jeannin, much 
superior to the other, dates, more probably, from the end of the i6th 
century. Those who wish to know more than I can tell them of the sub- 
jects of this monument, are referred to Montegut's charming book, " Sou- 
venirs de Bourgogne," which is well worth reading, for the aptness of its 
observation, its many interesting historical and local references, its delicate 
wit, and its literary style. 

The many Gothic chapels thrown out from the aisle in the 15th and 1 6th 
centuries, and the flamboyant jub6, are not of particular interest, and, more- 
over, destroy the unity of the interior. I will, therefore, pass them by; but, 
before leaving the church, I must call attention to what some people con- 
sider to be one of its chief treasures, — the martyrdom of Saint Symphorien, 
by Ingres — a painting ranked by some connoisseurs as the masterpiece of the 
19th century. It was specially ordered for the cathedral in 1824, but was 
not delivered until some thirty years later. 

* " Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 422 — 438. 



so BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

One cannot pretend to any enthusiasm for the result of those thirty years 
of labour. The picture leaves me absolutely cold, as it does nine out of every 
ten who see it. The figures are vigorous, and the colouring is, perhaps, 
more pleasing than is the case vv^ith some of Ingres' paintings — probably 
because the canvas is dirty and ill-lighted — but the picture is overcrowded, 
and the general effect theatrical. On the whole I am not disposed to 
quarrel with the critics who regretted that ever Ingres forsook the pencil for 
the brush. 

Here, in a few words, is the story of Saint Symphorien which the reader 
will find in full in the "Precis Historique " of "Autun et ses monuments."' 
It appears that, in the middle of the twelfth century, the gods chiefly 
favoured by the Autunois, were, Berecynthia — or Cybele — Apollo, and 
Diana. One day, when the image of Berecynthia, accompanied by an enor- 
mous crowd, was being wheeled on a cart through the streets of the city, 
Symphorien, having refused to do homage to her, was arrested and brought 
before the Roman magistrate, Heraclicus, to whom he boldly confessed his 
Christian faith. The magistrate, unwilling to deal harshly with a patrician 
youth, read to him the ante-Christian edict of Marcus Aurelius, which 
decrees the capital punishment of obstinate heretics, and endeavoured, in vain, 
to bring Symphorien to reason. Finally, he gave orders for the prisoner to 
be beaten by the lictors, and brought before him again, after passing three 
days in prison. Some of the dialogue that took place at the second interview 
is worth recording as the acta sincera of Symphorien probably give it to us 
in a nearly verbatim form, and support, in a very interesting way, the other 
evidence we can produce to show that the worship of the Romans, as of 
the Greeks, whose religion they honoured, was, to our way of thinking, 
somewhat indecently commercial — the purchase, for value received, of the 
divinity's favour. Thus the magistrate : " How much wiser you would be, 
Symphorien, by sacrificing to the immortal gods, to obtain promotion in the 
army, and rewards from the public treasury. If to-day you do not bend the 
knee before the image of the goddess mother, if you do not practice the cult 
due to Apollo and Diana, you will be put to death, and nothing can prevent 
it. If you consent, I will have the altar of the gods made ready; prepare, 
then, to let the smoke of the incense rise in their honour, and to render to 
the divinity the rights which are his due." 

Symphorien replied : 





^:^sm^misai^'a0^^ 




FONTAINE ST LAZARE-AUTUN 



Facing page ."iO] 



THE ROMAN CITY 51 

" The judge in whom is vested the pubh"c authority should not accompany 
his sentence with vain and useless words. If it be perilous not to make every 
day further progress in the way of perfection, how much more so to wander 
from the straight path and to risk foundering upon the reefs of sin ? " 

Again the magistrate spoke : 

" Sacrifice to the gods, that you may enjoy the honour granted by the 
prince to those who serve him." Symphorien replied in the same strain. 

" A judge degrades his authority when he thus publicly puts a price upon 
the observance of the law. He does irreparable wrong to his soul, and 
shames his good name for ever." 

Finally, the official, irritated, cut short Symphorien 's discourse, with the 
following sentence: — " That Symphorien, guilty of public crime, in having 
committed sacrilege by refusing to sacrifice to the gods, and seeking to pro- 
fane our holy altars, should be struck by the avenging sword, that the dread 
effects of his crime may be cancelled, and the law, human and divine, 
satisfied." 

In Ingres' picture, Symphorien is on his way to execution outside the town 
walls, while, from the rampart, his mother is addressing to him her last words 
of farewell and encouragement. He was decapitated by the executioner, and 
his body buried at night near a fountain " extra publicum campum," probably 
one of the vast burial places on the road to Langres and Besan^on.* 

Here we leave the cathedral of Autun, comforting ourselves with the 
assurance that, though we pass no more beneath its magnificent porch,we shall 
meet sister churches, not less beautiful, in other ancient towns of Burgundy. 
Meanwhile, before descending the steep old street that leads downwards, 
by the Hotel Rolin, to the centre of modern Autun, wander awhile through 
the narrow ways of the cathedral precincts, where still, as of old, the priests, 
living relics of a shadowy past, muttering into their breviaries, pace up and 
down before many a curious Gothic building. 

In the sixteenth century — 1543, ^^ ^^ precise — the chapter of the cathedral 
commissioned an architect unknown, who may possibly have been Jean 
Goujon, to erect a fountain which was placed, at first, near the corner of the 
Place St. Louis and the Place des Terraces. In 1784, it was decided that the 
fountain obstructed the road; and it was accordingly removed to its present 
site, where it remains, after many moving accidents and adventures, and in 
* " Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 52 — 54. 



52 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



spite of alterations, a gem of the Renaissance. f No description can convey 
an idea of the harmonious and decorative effect of this little fountain, un- 
matched for felicity in all France. The design is in tvi^o superposed pierced 
lanterns, the lower one surrounded by a cupola, and containing a basin below. 
The Ionic columns, the pilasters, the vases surmounting the entablature, and 
the pelican crowning the whole, are all perfectly proportioned and harmon- 
ized; and enough is left of the original sculpture to show how exquisite in 
every detail was the execution of the original work. 




•AuroN- 



Just below the fountain, in the Rue des Bancs, is the Hotel Rolin, the 
most interesting of the many museums with which Autun is favoured. 
Personally, I must confess to a very lukewarm enthusiasm for the majority 
of provincial museums; and I am inclined to wish that Autun had collected 
its relics in one good building, instead of having them in various quarters ot 
the town; but the Hotel Rolin is well worth a visit for its own sake. It is 
the annexe of the ancient palace of the Rolins, the ?nagna domum fohannis 
t In 1863 it was removed for some years to the Musee Lapidaire. 



THE ROMAN CITY 53 

Rolini, which faced the church of Notre Dame on the site of the Place St. 
Louis; and was built by Guillaume de Beauchamp, son of Nicholas Rolin, 
the famous chancellor of Burgundy, to accommodate the numerous members 
of the suite of that august personage. The courtyard and the glimpse it 
gives of the Hotel, when you have emerged from the darkness of the gate, 
is quite characteristic of its period, though, if nature should have imparted 
to you the least degree of timidity, where animals are concerned, you will 
probably leave that courtyard without regret, owing to the attentions of the 
concierge's very strenuous dog, who will make frantic and disconcerting 
endeavours to break out upon you through a frail, ground-floor window, 
which alone stands between you and a violent death. But all travellers must 
be prepared to face danger, and Cerberus at the gate will enhance your 
appreciation of the home of the Eduen Society. 

The building contains some stele from the Roman burial grounds, and 
numerous interesting relics, collected, for the most part, by M. Bulliot, from 
the Oppidum Bibracte. It has also some good recumbent mediaeval statues, 
Guillaume de Brasey, 1302, Jehan de Brasey, 1305, and the Sire de 
Rousillon, of the end of the thirteenth century. There is a relic of Charles 
le Temeraire, from Granson, and good portraits of Nicholas Rolin and his 
brother. 

Just below the Hotel Rolin are the remains of the old tower of the Porte 
des Bancs, of the iifth century, part of the rampart surrounding the Castrum, 
or upper city of Autun.* 

The museum v/hich ranks next in interest to the Hotel Rolin, is the 
Musee Lapidaire in the Rue St. Nicholas, in the Marchaux, the lower part 
of the town. It is housed in a nice little Romanesque chapel of the twelfth 
century, once attached to the Hopital St. Nicholas et St. Eloi de Marchaux. 
I found the bell at the entrance broken, and had to apply for admission at the 
concierge's cottage. No. 10, on the right. Knowing what I do of French 
provincial museums, I have little doubt that the reader will find the bell in 
the same condition. But let him not be deterred. The building, a charm- 
ing and typical example of Burgundian Romanesque, on a small scale, is 
worth seeing. Its walls still show the remains of some faded frescoes, 
probably, thinks M. Fontenay, of late twelfth century, representing Christ in 

*The Rue des Bancs was so called from the butchers' benches which once lined it. 
"Autun et ses Monuments," p. 379. 



54 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

glory. The chapel is filled with odds and ends of different periods; of the 
most important of which, the statues of Martha and Mary, from the cathe- 
dral, we have already spoken. In addition to these, there is, in the apse, a 
good Renaissance vierge from Autun, treated in a manner that contrasts very 
thoroughly with the saints on the wall behind her. The Renaissance 
remains from the chapel of Denis Poillot, ambassador of Francis I. in 
England, are of the highest order of merit, and make one regret much that 
the building has not survived. On the floor is a fine Roman mosaic, now 
covered with a cloth, and, close to it, a well-executed Roman sarcophagus, 
from Aries, representing the chase of the wild-boar of Calydon. The 
realistic sculpture is typical of much that is still to be seen in the most 
interesting musee lapidaire of that provincial town. 

Beside the chapel is a pleasant little garden, surrounded by an open shed 
which houses numberless relics of Roman and early Christian Autun, 
chiefly stele, tombstones, fragments of mosaic, etc. Historically the most 
interesting are the debris of the grey marble sarcophagus that once contained 
the body of Queen Brunehault, one of the most energetic and clear-sighted 
personalities of Merovingian times. In the name of her grandson, Thierry, 
she governed Burgundy for fifteen years (598-613), establishing her court at 
Autun, and, although more than sixty years of age, showed a "sagacity in 
council and administrative ability" which is noted by Gregory of Tours. 
Finally, some of the Burgundian chiefs, who hated her, delivered her over 
to her enemy. King Clotaire II. He caused her to be paraded for three days 
on a camel's back, in sight of all the army, and then had her tied by her hair, 
and by one foot and arm, to the tail of a wild horse, which was then driven 
far away. Her remains, buried in the Abbey of St. Martin, at Autun, not 
far from the chapel of St. Nicholas, were discovered there in 1632, in a 
leaden coffin, which contained, also, among other objects, a spur, said to be 
that which was used upon the horse to which the Queen was bound. 

There are worse places to wander in, and to dream in, than these open 
galleries, where the silent ones stand, side by side, upon their funeral stones, 
and the chickens scratch among Roman capitals. The gardienne's children 
are at play on the path, and, in the centre of the green cloister garth, the 
ripening pears tremble upon the swaying branches. The old caretaker — 
blessed among caretakers — leaves you alone, until you summon her. She is 
ready for a chat, but can impart no information whatever concerning the 
monuments in her charge. 



THE ROMAN CITY 55 

"Good-bye, Madame; and when I come again, in the spring, I shall 
expect to find the bell mended." "Parfaitement, Monsieur; Ha! ha! ha!" 
and her gossip friend, across the road, joins in the chorus, "Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Ha! ha! ha!" But the bell will not be mended — and they know it. 

The Musee municipal in the Hotel de Ville — the last musee which I shall 
inflict upon the reader — is as dreary as a haunted house, and much less 
interesting. You wander through gallery after gallery of second and third 
rate paintings, to be rewarded, at last, in the end room, by two little bronze 
crupellaires, or fighting gladiators of the first century, so called because, 
according to Tacitus, they were completely hidden beneath an iron armour, 
so thick as to make the wearer as immune against blows as he was incapable 
of dealing them,* The most interesting thing in the museum is the famous 
Greek inscription which has excited the interest of antiquarians and theo- 
logians all over the world. The stone is a piece of white marble, broken 
into fragments which are pieced together again, and on which is a Greek 
acrostic, and something supposed to stand for a Sigma. . The inscription, 
believed to be of the third or fourth century, is as follows. The transla- 
tion I give is from the French, as quoted by Hamerton in "The Mount," 

" O divine race of heavenly I^Qu?? receive with a heart full of respect 
life immortal among the mortals. Renew thy soul's youth, O my friend ! 
in the divine waters, by the eternal waves of wisdom that flow from the true 
riches. Receive the delicious food of the Saviour of saints. Take, eat and 
drink, thou boldest I^Oui; in thy hands, Ix^u? grant me this grace, 
ardently I desire it, Master and Saviour; may my mother rest in peace, i 
conjure thee, light of the dead. Aschandeus, my father, thou whom i 
cherish, with my tender mother and all my relations in the peace of Ix6u?-, 
remember thy Pectorius,"t 

The Hotel de Ville in which the Musee Municipal is housed, fronts upon 
the Champ de Mars, formerly the Champ St, Ladre (campus sancti Lazari) 
the centre of the life of the town. It was built over in Roman times, as 
proved by the substructures that have been found, but the land was cleared 
about the twelfth century. Throughout all the middle ages its convenient 
position between the Castrum and the Marchaux rendered it a kind of forum, 

* " Crupellarios vacant, inferendis sitibus inhabilis, accipiendis impenetrabilis." — 
Taciti Aun : lib. iii., c. 43, quoted " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 38. 
t Hamerton. "The Mount," p. 184. 



56 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

or general public meeting place, and the site of the great fetes and fairs. 
During the visit of Charles VIII. to Autun, in 151 6, the inhabitants con- 
structed in St. Ladre an immense wooden amphitheatre, with a linen velarium 
as a protection, quite in the old Roman manner. Here, too, from time im- 
memorial, has been held, and is still held, in September, the great fete de St. 
Ladre, and cattle fair that draws so many traders to Autun, and destroys 
for a month the peace of the cathedral city.§ The wars of religion and 
the gre^t revolution have brought their quota of victims to the stake, the 
gallows, or the guillotine, that in turn were set up in the centre of the place. 
At the north-east corner, opposite the Hotel de Ville, are the best cafes of 
the town, where, I remember, we learned the latest news of the Portuguese 
Revolution. 

Just round the corner, in the Rue de 1' Arbalete, is the best Hotel 
of Autun, " St. Louis et de la Poste," a great rambling building of the 
early seventeenth century, that, in itself, is a lasting souvenir of great his- 
torical events. On the lOth of January, 1802, Napoleon Buonaparte passed 
through Autun on the way to Lyons. He stayed one night, with the 
Empress Josephine, at the Hotel St. Louis, where he received the local 
authorities. Several ladies of the town, eager for a sight of the great man, 
obtained the hotelier's permission to officiate as waitresses, for that night 
only. Josephine discovered the ruse at once, and was so amused thereby that 
she proceeded to play her part in the game with the utmost grace and charm. 

The hundred days saw Napoleon again at the Hotel St. Louis. He had 
left Elba on the 26th February, 181 5, and arrived at Autun on the 15th of 
March. According to the account of an eye witness* the troops accompany- 
ing him were utterly exhausted, and could keep no sort of order; their ranks 
were broken, and soldiers of all arms were marching pell-mell. Napoleon 
was surprised and deeply hurt by his reception at Autun. No crowds came 
out to meet him, and scarcely a cry of "Vive I'Empereur " was heard. The 
houses were shut, the streets deserted, and only a small company of no- 
bodies, in blouses and sabots, formed his cortege. . . . No sooner had 
he descended at the Hotel de la Poste, than he asked for the mayor and the 
municipal council. They were brought into a balconied room looking on 

§ " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 332. 
* Dr. Guyton. " Mes Souvenirs de Soixante Ans pour servir a I'Histoire d'Autun," 
quoted in " Autun et ses Monuments," p. 354. 



THE ROMAN CITY 57 

the street. The Emperor, attended by Marshal Bertrand, General Brayer, 
and five or six other military men, appeared to be in a state of great agitation. 
He was pacing up and down, holding in his hand the proclamation of the 
night before, stepping at every moment on to the balcony, and leaving it 
with angry looks. When all had entered he stood in the middle of the 
apartment, and asked which was the mayor of Autun. 

" I am," said M. Piquot. 

" I know what you are," the Emperor replied, "a man always ready to 
pay court to nobles; one who would sacrifice his dignity for a dinner. You 
are mayor no longer; only a fanatic and a madman could have drawn up 
such an act as this. You dare to treat me as an usurper ! " 

"Sire," said M. de la Chaise, president of the civil tribunal, " by your 
abdication you have freed us from our oaths, and we have sworn fealty to 
Louis XVIII." 

" I have abdicated, you say. I did it only to assure the happiness of the 
French. France is not happy. She recalls me, and you would oppose her. 
. Madman ! you would have civil war, then ! " 

"But, enfin, sire, you have abdicated." 

"Be silent!" cried Napoleon, angrily, "you are only a wretched attorney." 

We need not follow any further a quarrel which led nowhere. Amid the 
same cold silence that had marked his arrival, Napoleon left early the next 
morning, to face the last triumphs and the crushing disaster of those fateful 
hundred days.* 

Another visitor to the Hotel St. Louis was Georges Sand, who came in 
the midst of all the bustle and excitement of the fair of St. Ladre, on the 
2nd September, 1836, and was served, with two children and a nurse, under 
a fruit tree in the garden into which the guests had overflowed. She must 
have overheard, at the large table, words which offended her, for, says St. 
Fonteney, she left her repast and the hotel in haste, and, two months after- 
wards, took a full revenge in the columns of the " Revue des deux Mondes," 
in which she referred darkly to the occasion as an "obscenity" an an "orgie 
of patricians." One would hardly have thought Georges Sand so squeamish. 

We, too, being only passers by, must leave Autun in haste. The autumn 
sun was setting, and the ruby mists of evening were creeping up the purple 
slopes of the Morvan, as the train steamed out of the station. Our com- 
* Autun et ses Monuments," pp. 354 — 357. 



58 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

partment was quite unlit, and gradually, as night fell, darkness enwrapped 
us so completely that we could not so much as see a hand held before the 
face. When we drew up at Epinac, a bent old woman, standing huddled up 
on the platform, peered into the compartment, in a futile endeavour to see 
what it might contain. She called the guard. They both looked in. "Fait 
ben noir " (very dark), she muttered. He shrugged his shoulders. The 
old woman wandered off vacantly. Third class fare on a monopoly railway 
does not entitle you to light; and she knew it. Along the darkened train 
ran a legend that they were buying oil and wick in the town. We waited, 
waited, long enough for them to have bought up the whole town and the 
one beyond it. But no light came, until, southward, I saw a faint, silvery 
glimmer. Then I knew what we were waiting for. There is no charge 
for moonlight— not even on that railway. But it was still dark as pitch. 
With a jerk the train began to move out; a large parcel, the property of a 
young French girl in front of me, fell down upon the head of her small and 
sleepy nephew, Madelon, who howled plaintively. The soldier in the 
corner, compelled by the presence of ladies to refrain, for an hour past, from 
indulging in his ruling passion, could contain himself no longer. He spat 
voluminously, vociferously, like a hen clucking. Almost as loudly Madelon 
sucked at a lozenge bestowed for the soothing of the bruised head. As the 
moon rose, the darkness paled. I could just see Madelon regarding com- 
placently the lozenge that he had removed from his mouth. 

"Madelon, Madelon, how many times have I told you not to take things 
from your mouth when you are eating ? Once in, they must stay in. 
Veux tu m'obeir." The rich sucking noise ceased, to be followed by the 
light breathing of a child asleep. We stopped at another station. Not con- 
tent with the moon, people put their heads out of the windows, and 
clamoured for light. They chaffed the station-master; they ragged the 
guard. Like rabbits the men ran up and down over the roofs of the carri- 
ages. Five porters gathered in a little woe-begone group, and looked on 
vacantly. But no light came. A tin trumpet blew, and the train started. 
An hour later we were climbing the hills of the Cote d'Or and dropping 
down into the eastern plain. That is how we left Autun. 




THEnom 

ADBE 






^ 



CHAPTER V 

The loitering train, that, climbing, winds among the vineclad slopes oi 
the Maconnais, gave us our first glimpse of the vendangeurs gathering the 
last of a scanty crop. Those blue shirts, moving through the bronze-clad 
bushes, were our first intimation that the Saone-et-Loire had escaped the 
utter ruin that the winds and rains of a wintry summer had wrought among 
the vines of the Cote d'Or. But this incident did not impress us as it might 
have done at another time or in another place. Our thoughts were not with 
the wine-harvest; they were ahead, busy with the memories the name ot 
Cluny evokes. 

To one who cares for what was best in the middle ages, no place in 
France, no place in Europe, unless, perhaps, it be Citeaux, can exercise an 
equal charm. But, as we shall see, though Citeaux rivalled, and ultimately 
eclipsed Cluny in power, and, through the influence of St. Bernard, out- 
shone her, not in material splendour, but by the dazzling whiteness of her 
purity, the historic interest of the site of the Cistercian house, there, by the 
deserted woods and wind-ruflfled pools of the eastern plain, could not sur- 
vive, in the minds of many, the destruction of the ancient monastery. 
Cluny, the Mother Abbey of Europe, the school of popes, holds first place, 
by right of birth, by right of what she was, and is. For Cluny still stands. 



6o BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

The little town nestling upon the lower slopes of the valley, through which 
the Grosne winds between her poplars, is not merely built upon the site of 
the Abbey, It is the Abbey. 

From the moment, when, on the way from the station, you see the ancient 
towers raising, one by one, their hoary heads above the roofs, as they have 
raised her past from oblivion, till, having climbed the cobble-stoned street that 
winds upwards through the town, you look down through the ruined gateway 
that once gave passage to kings and abbots, from every street corner, from 
every church, and dwelling-house, Cluny calls to you out of the past. 

We did not hear her at first; and we were disappointed. The Grande 
Rue, by which you enter the town from the east, is so narrow, that it affords 
no glimpse of what lies on either hand; and it was with unexpected 
suddenness, that, turning to the right, after a few minutes of wandering, we 
stood before the Hotel de Bourgogne, and looked up from the little, white 
building, at the great, grey, octagonal tower and the wall of masonry, that, 
we knew, must be the last survival of the Abbey Church itself. At that 
moment we were standing on the site of the nave; but we did not know it. 

It takes time to orient oneself. 

* * ***** 

Following upon the Gallo-Roman and early Christian periods, centred 
in the Autunois, the story of the rise of Cluny from humble beginnings to 
her apothegm of spiritual and temporal power marks the second notable 
period of Burgundian history. From this source, also, was to flow the main 
stream of progress, religious and artistic, that culminated in the mediaeval 
triumphs of thirteenth-century European civilization. At the time of the 
rise of Cluny, Burgundy, under the capetian dukes, was already established 
as a vassal province of France, but the inwardness of Burgundian history — of 
French history, indeed, in the 1 1 th and 1 2th centuries — will be understood 
only by those who realize that, until the advent of the semi-royal dukes of 
the house of Valois, in 1364, the controlling forces of the duchy are to be 
sought, not in Dijon, nor in Auxerre, but here, in this the mother abbey of 
Western Europe.* 

In the year 909, the veteran Duke William of Aquitaine, haunted by the 
shades of the many warriors who had fallen in the service of his ambition, 

* Noie. — For the condition of France in the loth century and the causes that 
contributed to the Christain revival, see Chapter xi. 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 6i 

or troubled by the whispers of conscience, or moved, perhaps, by that not 
wholly disinterested piety which sometimes awakens with the approach ot 
death, decided to follow the course then usual in such cases, and to found a 
monastery. For this purpose, he took into his confidence his friend, Bernon, 
Abbot of Gigny, who, accompanied by Hugues, Abbot of St. Martin at 
Autun, paid a visit to the Duke in his villa of Cluny, and was bidden to 
search out a place meet for the service of God. But the monk, gifted with 
a keen eye for all the amenities of a monastic site, could find none more fit- 
ting than this " in a spot withdrawn from all human society, so full of soli- 
" tude, of repose and of peace, that it seemed in some sort a picture (image) 
" of the heavenly solitude." f The Duke, however, stung by a last pang of 
regret for the loss of his lovely valley, had objections to raise. The spot was 
not suitable; for, all day long, the shouts of huntsmen and the baying of 
hounds broke the silence of the neighbouring forest. 

"Drive the dogs away," said Bernon, with a laugh, "and replace them 
" with monks; for you well know which shall stand you best before God, 
" the bay of the hounds, or the monks' prayers." 

"Surely, Father," replied the Duke, " your advice is sound, and since you 
'' give it unfeignedly, be it done, with Christ's aid, as thy goodness bids me 
" do." 

In the year 909, the nth year of Charles the Simple, the old Duke, lest, 
at his last hour, he should deserve the reproach of having thought only of the 
care of his body, and of the augmentation of his earthly possessions, wrote in 
his will, as follows: — " I declare that, for the love of God and of our 
" Saviour, Jesus Christ, I give and bequeath to the holy apostles, Peter and 
" Paul, all that I possess at Cluny . , . without excepting anything 
" dependent upon my domain of Cluny (Villa), farms, oratories, slaves ot 
" both sexes, vines, meadows, fields, water, water-courses, mills, rights ot 
" way, lands, cultivated or uncultivated, without any reserve. "+ He gives 
this, he goes on to say, for the good of soul and body of himself, his wife, 
his relatives, and dependents, "on condition that a monastery shall be built at 
Cluny, " in honour of the apostles, Peter and Paul, and that there shall 
" gather monks, living according to the rule of St. Benedict^ to hold and 

t Loraine's " Cluny," p. 19. 
t " Histoire de I'Ordre de Cluny," Pignot; " Essai Historique sur Cluny," 

Loraine. Duckett's " Cluny." 
§For the principles of the Benedictine rule, see Chapter on Citeaux, pp. 119, 120. 

F 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 63 

" administer for ever the things given, so that this house may become the 
" true house of prayer, that it may be filled for ever with faithful vovi^s and 
" pious supplications, that here shall be desired and besought, with ardent 
" wish and earnest longing, the wonders of communion with Heaven, that 
" prayers and supplications be addressed without ceasing to God, both for 
" me and for those persons of whom I have already made mention." 

Further: — "By God, in God and all His Saints, and under the fearful 
" menace of the last judgment, I beg, I beseech, that no secular prince, nor 
" count, nor bishop, nor the Pontiff himself of the Roman Church, do invade 
" the possessions of God's servants, nor sell nor diminish, nor give in benefice 
" to whomsoever it may be, anything to them belonging, nor allow any head 
" to be set over them against their will. And that this prohibition may be 
" more strongly binding upon the wicked and the headstrong, I insist and I 
" add, and I conjure you, Oh ! Holy Apostles, Peter and Paul, and Thou, 
" Pontiff of the Pontiffs of the apostolic seat, to cut off from communion 
" with the Holy Church and from life eternal, by the canonical authority 
" thou has received of God, all robbers, invaders, or sellers of that which i 
" give, of my full satisfaction and of my evident will." 

Sometimes, reading the old Duke's powerful anathema, that tells us more 
of the spirit of the time in which he lived than could any long narration of 
facts, I wonder, as I think of the after history of Cluny, whether that awful 
curse may not have alighted, or may not alight hereafter, upon the souls of 
those who have violated the conditions of its grant, or in blind fury have laid 
impious hands upon the hallowed stones of its church. 

Here, then, in the solitary valley of the Grosne, on the slope of a hill 
forming one of a range which marks the northern extremity of the Cevennes, 
was planted the tree whose branches were to over-shadow Europe. The 
site was well chosen for the birthplace of such a destiny. 

Occupying a middle position between Gothic and Latin influences, Cluny 
could here best fulfil her mission, which, indeed, has been and is still, in 
some sort, the mission of Burgundy, that of reconciling the conflicting, and 
often bitterly antagonistic, elements of north and south. Situated within a 
few kilometres of the Roman Road of Agrippa, which, passing Clermain and 
St. Cecile, connected Lyons and Boulogne, by way of Macon and Autun, 
the Abbey was also connected with Italy by that magnificent waterway, the 
Saone and the Rhone. Travellers could come by land or by river to Cluny. 



64 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



In the early years of the monastery, few came. Faith had weakened 
throughout all the land, and in many houses the monks of Gaul had de- 
parted from the strict rule of St. Benedict. It was the mission of Odon, the 
first of the long line of great and saintly abbotts, to be a reformer of that 
rule, and, by the example of his holy life, to augment the numbers, and in- 
crease the prosperity of the Abbey. From his earliest years, while yet he 

was in the monastery of Balme, says his 
chronicler, Jean de Salerne, his merits, 
becoming known throughout all the dis- 
trict, were finding expression in the 
gracious legends of the time. One of 
the best known was the miracle of the 
crumbs. 

An article of the rule bade the monks 
gather carefully the crumbs of bread 
from the table, and eat them before the 
end of the meal. When the signal to 
rise had been given, it was forbidden to 
lift any more food to the mouth. Odon, 
intent, one day, upon the lesson that was 
being read aloud in the refectory, forgot 
the crumbs. Not daring either to eat 
them, or to leave them on the table, he 
kept them in his hand, while he and his 
companions left the refectory and went 
into the church where grace was sung. 
At the conclusion of the ceremony, Odon 
threw himself at the feet of the father, 
and asked forgiveness; but, when he opened his hand to show him the crumbs, 
behold, to the astonishment of the brothers, each crumb was a precious pearl ! 
By the order of Bernon, the stones were fastened to one of the ornaments 
of the church.* 

Under such heavenly guidance, even the very beasts of the forest 
ministered to the growing community. When Odon had completed the 
early church, which Jean de Salerne modestly speaks of as an oratory and 
* Pignot's " Histoire de I'Ordre de Cluny," Time i., pp. 97 — 8. 




THE MOTHER ABBEY 65 

chapel, replaced, a century later, by a larger one, the bishop came to conse- 
crate the building. Forgetting the poverty of the monks, he brought with 
him such a lordly retinue of attendants and servants, that the abbot was 
sorely troubled as to how his guests were to be worthily received, and suitably 
fed. On the day of the ceremony, when the grey dawn had driven west- 
ward the shadows of the night, a great wild boar emerged from the neigh- 
bouring forest, and ran, at full speed, to the monastery. The guardian of 
the church, who was busy adorning the exterior porch, struck with terror at 
the sight, retreated hastily, shut the door behind him, and drew the bolts. 
But the fierce animal, fierce no longer, began to lick the door — leaving upon 
it marks of white foam — and to tap gently with its hoof, as though to beg 
admittance. But all who saw the beast, fled, until, weary with much 
knocking, it lay down across the threshold. When the bishop and his suite 
arrived, a cry of terror rose from the company. They aroused the neigh- 
bours, who came, armed with sticks. But the boar, instead of shewing fight, 
offered himself voluntarily to death, and his flesh, prepared with all the art 
of the monastic cooks, satisfied the refined tastes of the prelates. 

Every day Cluny grew in grace, in wisdom, in numbers, in riches, in 
influence, in power civil and spiritual. One after one, she founded new 
monasteries, and reformed those already in existence, until, under Odilon, 
in the beginning of the iith century, a cluster of priories had been built upon 
lands ceded to the abbey, and Cluny was attaining an importance greater than 
any other order had acquired until that day. In the plains, upon the sum- 
mits of the hills, by the banks of river and stream, in the depths of the 
forests, in the solitude of the valley, even in remote and silent places, were 
springing up little communities of monks, whose clocher, was, for the 
peasants, a symbol of charity, of refuge, of God come down among men;* 
and every year, nobles, not a few, gave lands in the neighbouring comtes to 
the Abbey of Cluny. 

The great fervour with which the monastic revival was received, had been 
due, in part, to the awful miseries of France during the loth 
century, and in part to an almost universal belief that the year 1 000 a.d. 
would herald the second coming of Christ, and the end of the world; 
but, by the time that year had passed without the advent of any of the 
expected phenomena, the more clear-sighted, perceiving the immense possi- 

* Pignot. Tome i., p. 413. 



66 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

bilities which the religious revival shadowed forth, for the welfare of a people 
crushed beneath the harsh feudal laws of the time, saw therein an additional 
inducement to encourage monastic effort. Gratitude for preservation had 
also its effect. All omens were propitious for the rise of Cluny to great 
glory. 

In the year 1024, a lady of noble Burgundian family, knowing that the 
hour was come in which she should give birth to a child, and following the 
custom of the time, summoned a priest, who, by the sacrifice of the mass, 
should assure her a happy delivery. At the moment when, while consecrat- 
ing the host, he was wrapt in fervent prayer, there appeared to him, shaping 
itself upon the golden bottom of the cup, a child's face radiant with a 
heavenly light. At the conclusion of the ceremony, he hastened to tell the 
mother what he had seen, and, finding the child already born, predicted that, 
God granting him life, the boy was chosen out for a great destiny, and 
would surely be found worthy, one day, to minister the cup in which his 
birth had been thus signalized. To the great joy of the mother, that hope 
was gloriously fulfilled; for the son born under such happy omens was 
Hugues, the greatest of the great abbots of Cluny, he, under whom the 
abbey, and, indeed, the whole church of Rome, was to establish an authority 
never before dreamed of in Christendom. 

Braving the anger of his father, Delmace, an ambitious and violent 
Seigneur, who would fain have seen his son don the knight's armour rather 
than the monk's cowl, Hugues, already ardently set upon a life of piety, 
obtained admission to the monastery of St. Marcel de Chalon, which he soon 
left, in order to place himself under the protection of Odilon, the then 
abbott of Cluny. This new father of the young Hugues was one of the best 
beloved of the abbotts of that monastery. Lacking the austerity of his pre- 
decessor, Odon — the great reformer whose energies had given new life to the 
Benedictine order — Saint Odilon, this " dernier et le plus meprisable des 
freres de Cluny," as he styled himself, though short and thin in person, was, 
at the same time, robust and virile; a humble, grave, sympathetic, fatherly 
man, whose pale face could flush with anger, and his gentle voice become 
terrible in rebuke of wrong-doing; one whom the sins and sorrows of the 
living and the dead* touched to the heart, as attested by the many healings 
with which legend has credited his name. Such was the man, already abbot 
* Odilon founded the " Fete des Trepasses." 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 



67 



for more than forty years, under whose worthy protection young Hugues 
placed himself. The new-comer, elected abbot on the death of Odilon in 
IC4.8, soon showed himself to be of yet sterner stuff even than his predecessor. 
Humble as regards his personal pretensions, kind and charitable to the poor 
and needy, he had, nevertheless, an eye which could read in their faces the 
souk of men; and he was fired with a holy ambition for the glory of the 
church. 

In bringing about the realization of these dreams, he found a worthy ally 
in that Napoleon of the Church, Hildebrand (Gregory VIL), one of the four 
monks, who, from a cell at Cluny, passed to the throne of St. Peter. f We 
need not here deal at length with that long 
struggle — the most significant event of the 
eleventh century — between the civil and 
religious rules of Christendom, in which 
Gregory succeeded in enforcing, if only for 
a tine, the most tremendous and all-embrac- 
ing daims that the church has ever advanced; 
but I shall be excused for recalling again that 
extraordinary scene enacted, in 1076, on the 
castled summit of the craggy Appennine hills, 
the rock of Alba Canossa, where the 
representative of temporal power, Henry 

IV., King of the Germans, attired in a penitent's garb of coarse wool, 
'vaited barefoot, through three bitter winter's days, in the court- 
yard of the castle, upon the pleasure of God's vice-regent on earth. Hugh, 
then Abbot of Cluny, was present at that scene; and it was largely owing 
to his mediation, backed by the influence of the Countess Matilda, that 
Henry was at last admitted to the royal presence.* Remembering how brief 
was Gregory's pontificate — a span of ten years — and his bitter last words at 
Palermo : " I have loved justice and hated iniquity, therefore I die in exile,'' 

t The three others were Urban 11., Pascal 11., and Urban v. 
* "Life and Times of Hildebrand," p. 128, by Right Rev. A. H. Mathew, D.D. 
Bishop Mathew describes Hildebrand's connection with Cluny as a myth, prob- 
ably originating in his visit to this monastery during the pontificate of Leo X. ; 
but Creighton, Milman, and other historians have accepted Cluny's claims to 
Hildebrand. Whatever the truth may be, certainly Hughes and Hildebrand were 
friends, united by a common aim. 




68 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

it may appear to some readers that the triumph of this h"ttle, ill-shapei 
homuncio was short-hVed; but we have to remember that, as Bishop Mathew 
has pointed out, his influence upon succeeding generations was greater than 
upon his own, and that without Gregory VII. there would have been no 
Innocent III. to become, in effect, " the king of kings, lord of lords, the cnly 
ruler of princes " in all Christendom. 

In many sublime and dramatic scenes, then being enacted throughout 
Europe, Hugues was called upon to play the part of peacemaker, but in none 
was his task more difficult than in that struggle between Gregory and Henry, 
to whom he was equaly bound by ties of close friendship. That he remained 
on good, even on intimate terms, with both men, is strong testimony to his 
integrity of character. More than once, in later years, he allayed the s'orms 
'that Gregory was raising; he defended Henry IV. against the ingratitude of 
his son; and it is to Hugues that we find the dethroned and fugitive emperor 
turning for consolation and advice concerning that revolt.* 

In such hands, at such a time, the glories of Cluny were safe. Nor was 
the papacy unmindful of all it owed to the great abbey. Here is Gregory's 
own eulogy of Cluny, delivered before the Council of Rome, in 1077- 
"Among all those situate beyond the hills, shines in the first rank that of 
Cluny under the protection of the holy seat. Under its holy abbots, it has 
reached so high a degree of honour and of religion, that, by the fervour with 
which God is there served, it surpasses undeniably all other monasteries, rot 
excepting even the most ancient; so that none other in this part of the Chris- 
tian world may be compared with it. To this day, all her abbots have been 
raised to the honour of sainthood. Not one among them, not one of their 
monks, obedient sons of the Romish Church, has fallen away nor bowed the 
knee to Baal; but, faithful always to the dignity and liberty granted to them 
by the Church from the foundation of the monastery, they have nobly up- 
held its authority, and will submit to no other power than that of St. 
Peter, t The privileges of Cluny became the ideal type for all others, and 
Gregory always regarded a comparison with the Burgundian abbey as a pecu- 
liar sign of favour, as in the case of St. Victor of Marseilles, whose monks he 
wished to console for the loss of a beloved abbot. 

t Bull : Clun, p. 21. Quoted in Pignot's " Histoire de I'Ordre de Cluny," Vol. ii., 

pp. 99-100. 
* P. Lorain "Essai Historique sur I'Abbaye de Cluny," vol. II., pp. 99-100. 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 69 

Not unnaturally, an institution so growing in grace, power, and riches, 
was growing also in numbers. The new monks must be housed; God must 
be honoured in, and by, a nobler Church. Nor was the Deity long in 
making known His will. 

One night, a monk of Cluny, sick and paralytic, was asleep in bed, when 
he saw appear before him the Apostles, Peter and Paul, and Stephen, the first 
Martyr. The monk asked them who they were, and what their will might 
be. Then St. Peter spoke: — 

" I am St. Peter, and these are St. Paul and St. Stephen. Rise, without 
delay, brother, and bear our orders to Hugues, Abbot of this Church. It 
pains us to see so many brothers gathered into so small a space, and our wish 
is that the Abbot should build a greater. And let him not consider the cost; 
we shall know how to provide all things necessary for the work." 

" I dare not take it upon me to bear your orders," replied the monk. 
" For no heed would be given to my words." 

" You have been chosen before all others," said St. Peter, " to transmit our 
commands to Hugues, so that your miraculous healing may gain credence 
for your message. If you obey faithfully, seven years shall be added to your 
life, and if Hugues defers the execution of our will, the sickness, upon leaving 
you, shall pass into his body." 

So speaking, St. Peter proceeded to measure out with cords the length, 
breadth, and height of the new building; then, showing the monk its propor- 
tions, the style, the necessary ornament, and the nature of the materials to be 
used, he counselled him to keep all these things faithfully in his memory. 

The monk, for whose funeral the bell-ringers were already awaiting the 
summons, awakened with a start, ran, safe and sound, to the Abbot's room, 
and told him the whole story. This midnight appearance of a man, dying 
an hour ago, and now healed by a marvellous vision, greatly astonished the 
good Abbot. Threatened with his brother's sickness, if he postponed the 
commencement of the building, and encouraged, moreover, by the heavenly 
aid promised to the enterprise, he believed, obeyed, and, with God's help, 
raised, in twenty years, a temple that was the glory of its age, and remained, 
for centuries, one of the marvels of Western Europe. + 

Tradition adds, that Hugues, not knowing exactly where to build the 
Church, threw a hammer into the air, and chose the spot where it fell for the 
+ P. Lorain. " Essai Historique sur Cluny," pp. 72-73. 



70 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



site of his sanctuary. In after years, before the abbey buildings were muti- 
lated, the inhabitants would still show, near one of them, an enormous stone 
that all the workmen and all their machines were unable to lift. St. Hugues 
only, during the night, by Divine help, could raise the huge mass, and place 
it in position; and ever after the stone retained the imprint of the Holy 
Founder's hand. 

Often the workmen, as they built the walls of the Church, would notice, 

watching them unweariedly, working 
silently in their midst, but sharing never 
in their repasts, a mysterious and wonder- 
ful figure. Some said that he was an 
angel presiding over the erection of the 
House of God; some said that he was 
none other than St. Hugues himself. 

It was in 1095 that Pascal II., crossing 
Provence by way of Tarascon and Avig- 
non, arrived at Cluny, in the month of 
November, accompanied by a large suite 
of cardinals, bishops, and priests. Every- 
where he was received with transports of 
joy; for no living man had yet seen the 
Vicar of Christ in this part of the land of 
Burgundy. At the request of Hugues, he 
had come to consecrate the great altar of 
the unfinished basilica. This he did, and 
also superintended the consecration, by 
attendant archbishops, of the other altars 
in the transept. In the midst of these 
ceremonies, turning to the crowd of on- 
lookers who had surrounded the building 
on all sides, Pascal reminded them of the 
special privileges with which the monastery 
had been endowed, of his own connec- 
tion with it as monk under the same 
Abbot, who still, by God's mercy, was alive and well in their midst; then, 
in the name of God, and by the holy memories he had awakened, he implored 
all to uphold and respect the sanctity of the new abbey-church. 




THE MOTHER ABBEY 71 

It was not until 1 1 3 1 that the great basilica, completed at last, was conse- 
crated by Innocent IL, amid scenes similar to those that had attended the 
visit of Urban II. 

Whether the building was inspired of God, or was merely a successful 
exercise of a fast-developing art, the new Cluny was not unworthy of the 
great order for which it stood. Not only was it, with the exception of St. 
Peter's at Rome, the largest Church in existence,^ but it remained also one 
of the most perfect examples of the Romanesque architecture, and became 
the accepted model for many a later Burgundian church and cathedral. The 
architect, according to Pignot, was a former canon of Li^ge, named 
Etzebon; artist, orator, theologian, and author of the life of St. Hugues. He 
appears to have had no difficulty in acquiring the first necessity of his work, 
namely, funds. Kings, nobles, and bishops vied with one another in their 
eagerness to make offerings to the new Church; the neighbouring princes 
made handsome donations, the pious of all classes brought gifts, offered volun- 
tary labour, or the loan of beasts of burden. The two lordliest givers were 
Alonzo VL, King of Castille, and Henry I. of England, the former of whom 
was deeply indebted to Hugues, whose influence with his kinsman, Eudes, 
Duke of Burgundy, had often smoothed Alonzo's path. The Abbot, in 
recognition " of the incessant benefits of this faithful friend," founded, on 
his behalf, almsgivings and special prayers throughout the order, and every 
day served, at the chief table, as though the King were present, a royal 
dinner, which was afterwards distributed among the poor. 

Meanwhile, as the gifts poured in, the building grew. From the great 
double gates,* Roman in style, and imitated, probably, from the Porte 
d'Arroux, at Autun, the land sloped downwards to the parvis, from the 
midst of which rose a great stone cross. Thence flights of balustraded steps, 
broken, at intervals, by terraced platforms, led down to the porch, flanked 
on each side by square towers, the Tour de la Justice, and Tour des 
Archives, each a hundred and forty feet high, and crowned with a pyramidal 
fleche. This porch, ornamented with statues of the saints and the Virgin, 
was surmounted, in the space between the towers, by a great rose, thirty feet 
in diameter, with the figure of a Benedictine monk above. It opened into a 

§ Its total length was 555 feet, about the same as that of Winchester Cathedral ; that 

of St. Peter is about 560 feet. 
* These gates still exist. 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 73 

magnificent church of five bays, one hundred and ten feet long, and one 
hundred and eighteen feet high, the narthex of the great basilica, f It was 
divided into a nave and two aisles, the whole supported by enormous square 
pillars, their sides decorated with fluted pilasters, which also helped to carry 
the pointed arches of the bays. From the capitals of the pilasters, clusters ot 
four shafts rose to the level of a frieze, just above the tops of the arches, from 
which other columns carried the high vault. A cornice supported on con- 
soles separated the clerestory from the triforium arcade of four round-headed 
arches, enclosed in pairs under a larger arch. Cornices, friezes, and capitals 
were decorated with flowers, birds, figures, and grotesque animals in the 
Clunisian style. Many a pilgrim visitor, standing in this great church, 
nearly as large as the Church of Notre Dame de Dijon, believed himself to 
be in the basilica itself, never dreaming that this was but the porch or ante- 
nave. 

Many theories have been advanced as to the purpose of this narthex, 
which became a usual feature of Clunisian construction, from about the 
middle of the twelfth century. Some have suggested that it was for over- 
flow congregations from the new church, or that it served for the servants ot 
the Abbey, for the suites of noble visitors, for the peasants from the neigh- 
bouring towns, or for criminals seeking refuge, as they were wont to do, in 
the shadow of the porch. Others have supposed, perhaps rightly, that it was 
used for the reconciliation of the excommunicated, for rites of exorcism, or 
for the dispensation of justice; but the most probable solution is that the 
narthex was a temple, in which, at Easter and other seasons of the year, the 
crowds of penitents and pilgrims — too numerous to be admitted into the 
basilica, or to be left outside — might hear the Word of God at the very 
threshold of, but not within, the building reserved for the monks. The 
narthex was, in effect, a purgatory, a sojourning place between earth and 
Heaven; the natural development of a custom which had arisen, for the 
priest, by order of the bishop, to say mass as near as possible to the gates of 
church, for the benefit of the penitents in the porch. 

There existed, until the i8th century, on the left of the door of the 
narthex, a stone table, which, perhaps, was formerly an altar, though 

t This narthex did not form part of Hugues' Church. It was not added until the 
time of Robert I. twentieth abbot of Cluny, in 1220 — but it is more convenient 
to deal with it here. 



74 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

made use of, at that time, only by mothers and nurses, who believed that 
they could hush their crying charges by depositing them thereon. 

At the end of the vestibule was the original gate of the basilica, of which 
the impost was the stone that St. Hugues had miraculously raised. Twenty- 
three figures were carved upon it in relief, and in the tympanum above was 
seated the Heavenly Father, as Teacher, His right Hand raised in benedic- 
tion. His left holding the Gospel. Beside Him the four Evangelists 
listened to His words, and cloud-borne angels held the medallions upon 
which were shown the Throne and Person of Christ. 

The interior of the great basilica must have been of the most majestic and 
impressive character, with its two transepts* and double row of aisles on each 
side of the nave. The great pillars supporting the central vault were seven 
and a half feet in diameter, with pilasters on the side of the nave, and 
engaged columns on the other three sides, meeting the aisle vaults. At the 
transept, the columns, together with the pillars they surmounted, rising in 
unbroken lines, formed the ribs of the vaulting. Above each bay was a tri- 
forium of two rows of superposed, romanesque, round-headed, arcaded 
arches, in threes, the lower row separated by pilasters, and the upper by 
colonnettes. The arches of the bays and the transepts were pointed; a 
feature, which, though quite usual in Burgundian work of the period, was 
more or less accidental, and was necessitated, or rendered advisable, by practi- 
cal considerations, rather than by a deliberate departure from an architectural 
style that was still of the purest Romanesque. The capitals everywhere 
were ornamented with characteristic sculpture, of extraordinary freedom and 
boldness, representing scriptural, and many other subjects. 

At the bottom of the nave, close to the entry of the choir, was placed, in 
after years, the tomb of Pope Gelase, and two altars, which, with a gate at 
the entrance, screened the monks from the eyes of the laymen. Here, too, 
against the pillars of the nave, were four large, painted, wooden statues, 
representing St. Hugues, holding the model of the church in his right hand, 
St. Mayeul, St. Odon, and St. Odilon. The choir occupied the space 

* Cluny is the only church in France with two transepts. English examples, which 
are rare, include Salisbury and York. The purpose of the second transept was 
probably to add to the architectural beauty of the church, by opening up more 
vistas, and to provide additional space for altars. See Bond's "Gothic Archi- 
tecture in England." 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 75 

between the two transepts; the sanctuary was carried on eight columns, 
three of which were of African marble, and three of Pentelic Greek marble, 
veined with blue, which St. Hugues brought from Italy by way of the 
Durance and the Rhone. The transept had many lateral chapels, and the 
east end, which was in semi-circular form, had five apsidal chapels, vaulted 
in half dome. A processional ambulatory circled the sanctuary and the 
tomb of St. Hugues, in front of which stood the great altar. Here, too, st 
opposite ends of the ambulatory, were placed the tombs of the Abbot Pons, 
and of Pierre le Venerable. The vault of the apse was adorned with a fine 
painting, of the end of the eleventh, or beginning of the twelfth century, 
representing the Eternal Father borne upon clouds, one hand raised, and the 
other placed upon the Apocalypse sealed with seven seals. At his feet was 
the Lamb without Blemish, and about Him were winged figures of man, the 
lion, the eagle, and the ox. 

But, in spite of the realism of the sculpture and the painting, in spite of 
the gorgeous tapestries, the golden candelabra, the pearl-encrusted ornaments 
of every kind, which the noblest men and women of the time, and of later 
times, showered upon Cluny, it is in the sense of spacious dignity and 
majesty, rather than in the sense of ostentation and magnificence, that we 
must interpret the words of Hildebrand de Mans, when he said that, "If it 
were possible for the inhabitants of the heavenly mansions to be happy in an 
abode fashioned by the hand of man, Cluny would be the angels' walk 
(ambulatorium angelorum)." 

Nor was the church less noble without than within. From the circular 
chapels lying about her transepts and her apse, along the collateral and the 
double row of flying buttresses,* rising higher than the narthex, the eye was 
lifted, stage after stage, high above her lofty nave, to the mighty towers that 
rose to the sky, in witness, for ever, one would have said, of Him whose 
Dwelling was not made with hands. 

The conventual buildings were on the south side of the basilica. From 
the principal south transept, a processional, and a smaller, door, opened upon 
the great romanesque cloister, of which a fragment here and there remains, 
built into the modern work. It was similar in style to the other buildings 

*Flying buttresses were added in the thirteenth century to prevent the collapse of 

the nave walls. 



76 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

of the period. Further south were the Lady Chapel and the great refectory. 
Abutting on the great wall of the Abbey, by the side of the Grosne, was a 
mill and a thirteenth century bake-house, which still exist. Among the 
many other buildings, chapels, baths, schools for the young, pharmacy, work- 
shops, dormitories, and stables, which are the necessary equipment of a great 
monastery, was a large infirmary, with its own cloister and refectory— a small 
establishment within the larger one. On the east side, extending to the 
fortified wall that enclosed the whole monastery, were the gardens of the 
abbey. 

Such, in its essential aspects, was the "ambulatorium angelorum." How 
did its occupants live? What was the rule observed within those walls? 
The rule, as kept in those early days, was stern and exacting. The first of 
the regulations was silence, except at stated intervals. In the church, in the 
dormitory, in the refectory, in the kitchen, absolute silence, broken only by 
the summoning bell or by the chanting of prayers. Like ghosts, the sand- 
alled monks glided about the echoing corridors; deaf mutes speaking by signs. 
The times for speech were the mornings, after chapter, and evenings after 
sexte. A parlour was reserved for the talkers, where, seated, book in hand, 
they might converse on spiritual and other topics. Yet they were recom- 
mended rather to remain in the cloister, and there meditate, read, pray, or 
copy manuscripts. This was the hour, too, for drying their clothes in the 
sun, for visiting the sick in the infirmary, for washing their cups, or for 
sharpening their knives on the grindstone in the cloister. Their daily food 
was limited to bread, vegetables, and fruits — meat was given only to the sick 
— eggs, cheese, and fish were allowed only occasionally, and nothing what- 
ever might be eaten after complies. At certain seasons, the use of fat for 
flavouring vegetables was forbidden. If wine were permitted, on days of 
great solemnity, and during exhausting fasts, it must be free from spirituous 
seasoning, and from the spice that flatters the palates of the worldly. Still 
less was it permitted to drink hypocras, or oriental or Italian liqueurs — the 
" little wine " of the apostle was to suffice them. Only two repasts a day 
were allowed, except to the young, or to those engaged in specially hard 
work. 

The monks might shave one another once in three weeks, chanting psalms 
the while, and not until the days of decadence were they shaved by a secular 
barber. "In bygone times," says the chronicler, " they were not shaved, 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 77 

they were skinned."* They might not bathe often, lest the habit should 
engender softness, and they did not usually indulge in full ablution more than 
twice a year — before Christmas and Easter. Sick monks, however, might 
bathe as often as they pleased. 

The clothing allowed to the brothers consisted of a woollen shirt of dark 
colour — one for the day, another for the night. Their garments were 
rustic in form and substance; such as were worn by the peasants. Over the 
tunic was a scapular, with a hood or capuchon attached, and over all the 
frock was sometimes worn. Precious stuffs, silks, and gay colours were for- 
bidden; for it was unfitting, said the statutes, that monks should be ap- 
parelled like brides for the nuptial chamber. The strict rule of St. Benedict 
allowed no furs; but a concession was made to the rigour of the Burgundian 
climate, and the monks might wear sheep-skin or goat-skin cloaks in winter, 
and fur boots for sleeping in, but no rich and costly skins from foreign lands 
— "For those who are softly clothed dwell in kings' Palaces." No monk 
might eat or drink at other than the regular hours; he might not go out at 
night, nor leave the monastery without the abbot's permission. When on a 
journey, he should receive only monastic hospitality, and, in any event, must 
never accept wine or meat; nor might he eat outside the gates, unless it were 
impossible for him to return home before sunset. 

The vice of property was resisted to the utmost. Each monk received 
from the Superior, in addition to his clothing, all necessary articles, such as 
a handkerchief, a knife, a needle, a writing pencil and tablet. Nothing was 
the monk's own; no brother possessed money; testaments were forbidden; 
and those who violated the precepts were excommunicated, and refused 
ecclesiastical burial. 

Above all, the Clunisian monk must earn his bread with his hands. The 
earth, whence his body came, and whither it should return, must support 
him. This held good for long; but in later times, the monasteries increased 
in size, manual labour naturally became specialized, and some did little more 
than mend their clothes, wash their linen, clean and grease their boots, and 
take their turn in the kitchen. 

"To speak truth," remarks Udalric, " the work which I saw done most 
often was to free the beans of the leaves which retarded their growth, to 
pluck the ill weeds from the garden, and sometimes to knead the bread in 

* Lorain, p. 237-8. "Non rasura, sed potius excoratio." In view of this statement, 
the accompanying psalm-singing is rendered the more meritorious. 
G 




CLOCriE-R T>e L'tMJ GtWVtE 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 79 

the bake-house." Manual work, however, remained always part of the strict 
rule. "Then will you be monks," said St. Benedict, " when you live by the 
work of your hands, after the example of the holy preachers of the monastic 
law." Bitter must it have been to Pierre le Venerable, the last of 
the great abbots, to have to write as he did of the growing deca- 
dence : — " Idleness is the enemy of the soul : and do we not see 
the greater part of the brothers . . . both within and without 
the cloister, in a state of absolute inactivity. How few are they who 
read, still fewer they who write ! Do not the greater number sleep, leaning 
against the walls, or do they not waste their day from dawn to sunset in vain 
and idle, or in what is yet worse, malicious conversation." But, in the 
earlier years of Cluny, the rule was not easily broken, nor broken with im- 
punity. A continuous surveillance, day and night, was exercised so 
regularly, by monks called " circateurs," that scarcely the least fault could 
be committed unseen, and punishment, inflicted in grave cases by the abbot 
himself, followed hard upon the offence. Sometimes the delinquent was 
condemned to solitary confinement, or to stand, all day long, at the door of 
the church; sometimes he was flogged, in full chapter, by his brother monks, 
or, if the fault had been publicly committed, the whipping was administered 
before all the people. It was customary, also, to expose certain delinquents 
before the door of the basilica, at the hour of mass, while one of the servants 
of the abbey announced the cause of his penance to the worshippers as they 
entered. The sinner was denied all participation in the solemnities and in 
Christian communion; he was denied the kiss also. If he revolted against 
his punishment, the outraged monks would drag him voluntarily to a fearful 
dungeon, without door or window, into which he must descend by a ladder. 

And over all their day of toil, of silence, of fasting, and of prayer, hung a 
shadow, dark as those that fell from the vaulted nave, or lingered at sunset in 
the cool cloister galleries — the shadow of ever-present death. When a 
brother died, each monk, with his own hand, must sew stitches in the wind- 
ing-sheet, whose clinging folds should recall vividly to his spirit that all flesh 
is as grass, and that the way of life is the way of death. 

The monks' day was divided between work, prayer, and psalmody; the 
latter sub-divided into the oiHce and the mass, thus fulfilling literally the 
words of the psalmist;* "Seven times in the day have I celebrated Thy 

* Psalm cxviii., v. 



8o BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

praises, and I rose in the middle of the night to confess Thy Name." The 
intervals for rest or sleep were short, and, during a part of the year, the 
monks slept less than half the night. Udalric, the author of the widely- 
circulated manual of the customs of Cluny, gives a vivid picture of the dis- 
cipline observed by the brothers during the " regular hours," as they were 
called. At the first sound of the bell announcing nocturnes, they sat up in 
bed, put on the frock without throwing ofi the blankets, finished dressing 
without showing their legs, and descended to the church. As it might well 
chance that one of them would be overcome by sleep during the psalmody 
or prayer, a brother was appointed to go the round of the choir, carrying a 
wooden lantern, which he would hold under the eyes of any monk whom iie 
believed to be asleep. If he had made a mistake, and found that his brother 
was merely wrapped in meditation, he would bow low before him by way or 
excusing himself; if, on the contrary, the delinquent was really asleep, the 
light would be held awhile, close to his eyes. This warning would be 
repeated three times during the round, and if, at the third time, the light did 
not awaken the sleeper, the lantern would be left at his feet; and upon the 
somnolent monk, when he awoke, fell the duty of doing the next round. 

At the signal for matins, the monks would descend to the cloister, and 
there wash their hands and faces, and comb themselves, returning to the 
choir before the last stroke of the bell. There, whether they were sitting 
or standing, the feet must be in line, and neither* the long sleeves, nor the 
skirt of the frock, must touch the ground. 

With the addition of regular hours for reading and study, such, in short, 
was the life led by the Clunisian monk, from the day of his entry, until the 
tolling of bells, and the coming of the brothers with cross, candles, and 
incense, announced that one more devotee had gone to receive — let us hope — 
the reward of a life of self-sacrifice. 

One might be pardoned for supposing that an existence such as this we 
have outlined, would have been austere enough to satisfy even the most 
rigorous ascetics of the time. But it was not so. To old Pierre Damien, 
foi example, when he rested awhile at Cluny, to nurse in good company his 
aged back, scarred by the strokes of iron rods, the rule seemed almost volup- 
tuous. He spoke about it to Abbot Hugh. 

"If you could abstain for two days more in the week from using fat in 
your victuals, you, who are so perfect in other points, would, in the matter 




^fiUir^s OF TH^ A^-feEY qAT£VA7 « ~ cuun/ 



82 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

of mortification, be in no way behind the anchorites." 

The wary Abbot reph'ed with a smile : — 

"Before attempting, well-beloved father, to augment our merits by aug- 
menting our abstinence, try yourself to bear, for eight days, the burden of 
our rule; and then judge whether we can add aught to our austerities." 

The brave old ascetic accepted the challenge, and at the end of eight days 
decided that things might well remain as they were.* The rule of Cluny 
was more severe than his own. 

Under the government of St. Hugues, grown old and gray, Cluny had 
reached the summit of worldly power, and of moral influence; with him, her 
best days passed. On the 29th April, 11 09, the priests, loudly lamenting, 
were gathered round the body of their dead saint. Clothed in his sacerdotal 
robes, he lay, for three days, in the church, and a great crowd of lords and 
ladies, of bourgeois, woodsmen, labourers from field and vineyard, women 
and children, came to kiss his feet, and lift his raiment to their lips. On the 
day before, Bernard de Varennes heard Saint Denis the Areopagite announce 
to him, in a vision, that, if he wished to see again, for the last time, his friend 
and abbot, Hugues of Cluny, he must haste to the dying man. Bernard 
obeyed the summons, but, on his arrival, fell sick and remained three days 
in a lethargy. When he came to himself, he said to the monks around him, 
"Unhappy man that I am. I had come to salute my abbot, and he is dead 
before the grace is granted me. But what I might not see with the eyes of 
the body, I saw with the eyes of the spirit. I saw the dwellers in Heaven 
descend among men, and the Mother of God, brighter than the morning star, 
standing in the midst of the monks around the death-bed of Seigneur Hugues. 
At the moment of the passing of his soul, spirits, armed with arrows, flew to 
seize upon it, but the Mother of Mercy, raising her hand, struck them with 
terror, and put them to flight, as the wind scatters the autumn leaves. 
Martin, the pearl of priests, Benedict the sun of abbots, at the head of the 
heavenly cohorts, bore the soul of Hugues into a fair and fertile vineyard, 
that there it might rest awhile. Hugues, perceiving me in this place, ad- 
dressed me thus : 'Eat, dear friend, these bunches of white grapes, eat and 
rest with me awhile; not for long am I here. When my feet are freed from 
the swelling and the dust of a long earthly pilgrimage, I shall pass into the 
home that God hath prepared for me throughout eternity. Recommend to 
* Pignot, Vol. II., pp. 62-67. 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 83 

Pons, my successor, to treasure humility and innocence, to forget his own 
needs for those of others, and to follow my example of monastic rule.' " 

Pons did not follow Hugues' example of monastic rule. When his 
vanity, weakness, and love of pomp had alienated a portion of his following, 
he resigned his abbacy and retired. His successor, Hugues 11. held office 
only a few months, when the task of presiding over the destinies of Cluny 
passed to Pierre le Venerable, the last of the great abbots, a name that already 
links us in memory with him whose destiny it was, by a return to simplicity, 
as a source of strength, to rival, and, for a time, to exceed the power of 
Cluny. I speak of St. Bernard, the champion of the Cistercian order. We 
shall meet him again at Citeaux and elsewhere. 

It is probable that St. Hugues himself, by acquiring such great wealth Tor 
the abbey, prepared its ultimate downfall. Be that as it may, though the 
rhyming Burgundian proverb, 

" En tous pays ou le vent vente 
L'Abbaye le Cluny a rente," 
may not have been coined until a later century, it is certain that Cluny was 
fast acquiring wealth, and succumbing to a luxury utterly alien to the Spirit 
of Him Whose benediction was upon the poor and the humble. It was 
natural that the order, following the fashion of the age, should wish to house 
worthily the many priceless relics brought back by pious, though too 
credulous, crusaders from the Holy Land, and the members of the Clunisian 
school of art soon learned to vie with one another in fashioning chasses for 
the miraculous rod with which Moses brought forth water in the desert, or 
for the stone from Mount Sinai on which he kneeled when he received from 
God the table of the law, or for the alabaster vase from which Mary Mag- 
dalen anointed the Saviour's Feet.* 

As the treasures grew in number, the skill of the artificers, and their passion 
for exercising it increased simultaneously, until, at last, the story of the 
treasures of Cluny, in the monastic inventories, is like a tale from the "Thou- 

* The relics of Cluny included also, among many others, a veil, hair and clothing of 
the Virgin ; the palm which Christ carried on His triumphal entry into 
Jerusalem; the vessel in vsrhich Jesus changed water into wine at the marriage 
of Cana in Galilee ; portions of the true cross and the crown of thorns ; two 
rings of the iron chain which held St. Peter when the angel came to deliver him 
from prison, etc., etc. See Lorain, p. 330. 



84 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

sand and one Nights," told in gold and jewels. When there were no more 
relics to work for, the monks turned to what was next to hand, and soon, 
from the crosses, from the pastoral baton, from the candelabra of gold and 
silver, of crystal and ivory, from the draped altars, from the pontifical mitres, 
even, diamonds and rubies flashed, opals sparkled with their changing rays, 
while, sometimes, a softly-shining pearl dropped from the Abbot's sandal, 
as he stepped into the blaze of light in which the great altar was bathed. 

Not less gorgeous were the sacerdotal robes, woven always of the most 
precious stuffs, and in the choicest colours, and worked, on body and sleeves, 
with an infinite number of designs, lions and griffons, kings and dragons, 
angels, eagles, leopards and serpents, crosses, arms, lilies, and roses. All the 
rich and varied symbolism of the times shone out from the robes of Cluny. 
Nor were the altars, statues, and tombs less gorgeous. The magnificent 
chasse of St. Hugues was of precious wood, entirely covered with silver, the 
reliefs representmg, in gold, the mysteries of the Life and Death of the 
Saviour. The pictures and altar pieces were similarly treated. One of the 
statues of Mary was of gold; she held in her hand a silver candle adorned 
with great pearls; she was crowned with a golden crown; precious stones 
flashed upon her brow. The Infant Christ was playing with a golden 
rattle, and wore, upon His Baby head, a golden crown enriched with rubies 
and emeralds. 

To such a Cluny there could only be one end. Her days, as a spiritual 
force, were spent. Henceforth, to the religious world, she was to be no more 
than a splendid memory; yet the soul of goodness that ever lives and moves 
in things seemingly evil, had reserved wonderful uses for the work that 
deft hands, otherwise idle, were still fashioning in the cloisters of Cluny. 
Her lions, her lilies, her crosses in wrought gold, her symbols in chaste silver 
and in precious stones, had already awakened the spirit of emulation in a 
thousand brooding minds. Who shall tell the debt that Gothic art owes, 
that we, its inheritors, shall ever owe to the decadence of the mother abbey. 

When we come to talk of Bernard and Citeaux, we shall hear 
again of Clunisian luxury; but we have not time, nor would it repay 
us, to follow, through all its stages, the decline and fall of this 
Mother Church of Europe, from its glorious position as " the light 
of the world," to a mere asylum for feudalism — interesting to the 
student of sociology, but no longer in touch with the great onward move- 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 85 

ments of history. The last three centuries of the Abbey's existence make 
sad reading. The envy and jealousy with which the monks were regarded 
on all sides, made it hard for them successfully to cultivate and harvest their 
enormous territories. Their rights and privileges, grown old and almost for- 
gotten, could scarcely be asserted and maintained, except by threats and 
violence. The Revolution found the Benedictines in conflict with the town, 
over pasturage and other rights in the woods of the monastery; and, on July 
29th, 1789, the abbey was threatened by a band of armed peasants, who were 
repulsed only by the united efforts of monks and townsmen. 

On the 2ist April, 1799, after considerable discussion, in which it appears 
that the inhabitants of Cluny did their best, or at least made an effort, to save 
the abbey, the buildings were sold to Citizen Batonard, a merchant of Macon, 
for the sum of two million, fourteen thousand francs. 

In spite of the lively protests of the municipality, the new-comer at once 
proceeded to play havoc with the church ornaments, a feat which he followed 
up by making a new road, north and south, through the precincts, cutting 
the church in two. Later, the Empire completed what the Revolution had 
begun. In the summer of 181 1, Cluny was shaken by a series of terrific 
explosions. They were blasting, with 75 bombs, the towers and sanctuary 
of the Abbey.* 




See "Cluny, la Ville et I'Abbaye," by A. Penjon, pp. 159-166. 




Rex • Lf^NC^'p-^^s ' Xccci^ 



THE nOlHER AffiETj 



CHAPTER VI 

It is time to turn from Cluny of the past to Cluny of the present. We 
have not far to go; for the town is still the abbey, and will be so yet, I hope, 
for many a year to come. 

Early on the first morning of our stay, we left the little Hotel de Bour- 
gogne, which stands on the site of the nave, in the very shadow of the last 
remaining gaunt tower of Cluny. The entrance to the alley is through the 
facade of the ancient "Palace of the Pope Gelase," as it is called, a fine, 
fourteenth-century building, restored — rebuilt one might say — in 1783, and 
fronting on the old court-yard of the monastery, now known as the Place de 
la Crenelle, or the Place du Marche, on the opposite side of which is a build- 
ing that was once the monastic stable. The upper story of the facade has 
fine Gothic windows, forming almost an arcade. The trefoiled tracery is 
satisfactory, and exquisitely carved faces look down upon you from the 
corbels of the drip-stones. It was to Cluny, during the abbacy of Pons, that 
Gelase II., illtreated and threatened by the partisans of Henry V., fled for 
rest and refuge; and here, a few days afterwards, lying upon ashes, clothed 
in the robe of the Benedictine order, and surrounded by his cardinals and the 
monks of the community, says a contemporary, he died "as in his own 
house."* This palais du pape Gelase is now the principal building of the 
secondary school, the "Ecole nationale des Arts et Metiers," established in the 
precincts of the abbey. We wandered for an hour about the building, en- 
deavouring to fashion again, in our minds, Cluny as it was. 

* Lorain, p. 95. 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 



87 



Standing in that echoing transept, the sole relic of the great Mother 
Church of Western Christendom, following the noble shafting up to where, 
above the mutilated capitals, sculptured with all the naive skill and courage 
of the time, the eye can reach the lofty vault, and follow round the fluted 
pilasters of the triforium arcades, I felt that, of all the thousand acts ot 
Vandalism that the incredible, immeasurable folly and ignorance of man have 
inflicted upon a long-suffering world, this is the most insufferable, the most 
unpardonable. I can understand, I can almost forgive, a Puritan Crom- 
well, blinded by a fanaticism, that, though savage and ignorant, was yet, in 
intention, religious, battering down the statues of Mary from their niches, 
and shattering with fusilades the glass that, for hundreds of years, had 
bathed in loveliest colours the sunlit aisles of our Gothic cathedrals; but this 
I can neither understand nor pardon — that those who, discarding all other 
religions, have bowed the knee to 
Reason, as the most divine attri- 
bute of man, should have found, 
in her name, a warrant to drive 
a street through the abbey's 
cloister garth, and blast, with the 
dynamiter's bomb, the hoary 
arches of Cluny. 

This chapel of the normal 
school, as it now is, was once the 
southern limb of the great tran- 
sept. With the tower of the 
Eau Benite, the smaller tower of 
the Horloge, and the Chapelle 
Bourbon, it is the sole remaining 
relic of the church itself. Until 
after 1823, the transept was open 
to the wind and rain, which 
threatened ruin to the fabric. It 
was decided, therefore to close 
the gaping arches of the col- 
lateral on the east and west, and to build a wall on the north side. 
The immense height of the transept, emphasized by the vaulting 




88 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

shafts, is made more striking by the small space within which it is 
viewed, and the blind gallery and clerestory, with their arcades, and coupled, 
engaged columns, and fluted pilasters, enable one to break through, in imagin- 
ation, that northern wall, and get a realistic glance, east and west, into the 
sanctuary, and down the five aisles of the church as it was. 

The two chapels remaining in the transept, are those of St. Martial and 
St. Stephen. The former, half domed and lighted by three windows, is 
similar in style to the original apsidal chapels; that of St. Stephen is fine 
Gothic work of the first half of the fourteenth century. Here was buried 
Pierre de Chastelux, abbot from 1322 to 1343, who bought the Palais des 
Thermes, at Paris, where Jean de Bourbon, a century later, was to com- 
mence the Hotel de Cluny. Here, too, was buried, in the middle of the 
chapel, Jacques d'Amboise (1480 — 1510), the successor of Jean de Bourbon, 
and the completer of the Palais Abbatial, here at Cluny, and of the Hotel 
de Cluny at Paris. The brickwork of the south wall of the transept still 
shows the position of the two doors, one for ordinary use, and one procession- 
al gateway, leading into the cloisters. 

The most important remaining building is the Chapelle Bourbon, which 
was added to the south end of the smaller (eastern) transept by Abbot Jean 
de Bourbon (1456 — 1480), who had his own private oratory here, whence 
he could assist, through an aperture in the wall, at the ceremonies before the 
great altar in the sanctuary. Enough remains of the decoration of the chapel 
to show, at a glance, that it was a good example of late Gothic art. Around 
it were ranged, on a series of sculptured corbels or consoles, the heads of 
fifteen prophets, painted in colours. They are not lacking in expression, but 
are clumsy and heavy. These busts served as supports for fifteen stone 
statues, those of St. Paul, the Virgin Mary, John the Baptist, and the twelve 
Apostles, all of which have disappeared, no one knows whither. The 
guide told us that one of these statues, that of Christ, was in gold, and all the 
others in silver; a statement which, if it be true, accounts sufficiently for their 
disappearance. The only thing of interest remaining in the grounds of the 
ecole normale is the thirteenth-century bake-house, close to the Tour du 
Moulin, by the river wall. 

The ancient wall of the abbey is broken down in many places, and part 
of it is engulfed by the buildings of the town erected against it. Of the 
interior towers of the abbey — besides those of the church — only two remain, 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 89 

the Tour du Moulin, and the Tour des Fromages. The first, as we have 
just seen is close to the river, and the second is close to the church ot 
Notre Dame. The origin of its curious name is not knoM^n. Of the 
exterior relics of the abbey, the most interesting, architecturally and histori- 
cally, is the great entrance gate, which is high up on the side of the hill, at 
the top of the road leading from the Hotel de Bourgogne, the street that 
extends along the site of the nave, the narthex, the porch, and the parvis of 
the basilica. On your right, as you mount the rise, you pass part of a gate- 
way, to the crevices of whose moulded stones cling rock plants and grasses — 
a beautiful, time-mellowed ruin — all that remains of the gate of the narthex. 

The great abbey gate is a dark and forbidding piece of masonry, in the 
Roman manner, and evidently imitated from the gates of Autun. It com- 
prises two arches, each with fluted, engaged columns, whose richly sculp- 
tured capitals support an ornamented archivolt. There were also fluted 
pilasters supporting a cornice. The greater part of these has disappeared, as 
has the attic colonnade, also imitated from the gates of Autun, and similar 
to the colonnades which exist still in the Romanesque houses of Cluny. 
The thickness of the pillars behind the door, and the absence of windows in 
the adjoining wing of the Palais Abbatial, point to the conclusion that the 
gate was fortified in the late middle ages, probably by a quadrangular tower. 
Interesting as this shattered old relic is architecturally, its charm lies 
in the memories of the great ones to whom it opened. All those who made 
the most glorious pages of the history of Cluny have passed beneath its 
arches — Priests and Saints, as St. Hugues, Pierre Damien, Abelard, and 
Anselm; great Popes, as Hildebrand (Gregory VII.), Gelase II., Innocent 
IV., Boniface VIII. ; among Kings, William the Conqueror, Saint Louis, 
Philipe le Bel, and his sons ; Charles VI. and his uncles. Some of these 
passed through in humble guise, but most came with royal, or semi-royal 
pageantry, mounted on proud chargers, at the head of glittering cavalcades, 
and followed by a long retinue of lords, soldiers and attendants, to partake 
of the limitless hospitality of Cluny. 

On the north side of this famous gate, is the Palais Abbatial, comprising 
two buildings, once joined, but separated at the time of the Revolution, and 
now serving as the Musee and the Hotel de Ville. That nearest to the gate 
was built, in the latter half of the fifteenth century, by the famous abbot, 
Jean de Bourbon, who added the Chappelle Bourbon to the basilica, and com- 




--jttiL A^^g-y q/^m -ClUt^^ 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 91 

menced the Hotel de Cluny at Paris. He was, in effect, the first of the 
commendatory abbots, a system which Julien de Baleure rightly calls "vraye 
sappe de I'etat monastique et ruine des bons monasteres,"* since under it the 
rule and revenues of the abbey passed into the hands of a stranger, who often 
wholly neglected his charge, or, if he visited it at all, paid only infrequent, 
ceremonial calls. 

Jean de Bourbon, though Bishop of Puy when Charles VII. recommended 
him to the choice of the monks of Cluny, was not a member of any monastic 
order; nevertheless, while still remaining the " grand seigneur," he appears 
to have done something to re-establish discipline in the monastery. It soon 
became apparent to him that the frequent visits of distinguished persons to his 
palace within the church precincts, were a menace to the peace of the 
cloister. He accordingly bought land from the monks, and built his palace 
adjoining the great gate, one arch of which was reserved for his private 
entrance. 

The building has undergone some modifications, but it remains a good 
example of fifteenth-century work, especially the windows, which have the 
typical flat arch of the period, and dripstones with finely sculptured heads 
for corbels. On the east side, a later age has painted imitations of similar 
windows upon the stone wall. Within the palace are some handsome stair- 
cases and doors, and two excellent chimney-pieces, restored, showing the 
arms of Jean de Bourbon, of the Bishopric of Puy, and of the Abbey and 
Town of Cluny. The arms of the town are a silver key, on azure, with 
the ring below; those of the abbey are two golden keys crossed by a sword 
with silver blade, the hilt downwards. 

The musee lapidaire on the ground floor is full of interesting relics. They 
need not all be catalogued here, but I must point out two or three of the 
best. Probably the oldest relic there is a triangular memorial stone, in the 
corner, on the left of the fire-place, with the epitaph of Aimard (Sanctus 
Aimardus), third abbot of Cluny, who died in 964. Until 1872, this stone 
formed the threshold of a house in the town. Another relic, not to be 
missed, is the pierre tombale of St. Hugues (Abbot from 1046 — 1109), which 
is over the door opposite to the entrance; there is also the urn that contained 
his heart. 

* Undermining of the monastic state and ruin of good monasteries." — Penjon's 

" Cluny," p. 125. 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 



93 



But the most interesting of all are some twelfth century capitals from the 
ambulatory of St. Hugues' church. All of these, though showing the 
naivet^ of treatment characteristic of early Gothic art, are carved 
with wonderful freedom, vigour, and sincerity. Figures, foliage, fruit, and 
animals are all realistically produced, and grouped with a fine sense of design 
and decorative effect. So strong are they, that the Gothic capitals in the 
collection look weak beside them. The best of them represents God driving 
a terrified Adam and 
Eve frohi the garden 
of Eden. Eve is 
hiding behind Adam, 
who is draped in fig 
leaves. Another shows 
the sacrifice of Abra- 
ham at the moment 
when he is inter- 
rupted by the angel; 
another the creation of 
the world; and another 
has figures of musi- 
cians, playing various 
instruments, sculptured 
from elliptical medal- 
lions. More of these 
capitals would prob- 
ably have been pre- 
served, had the church 
been demolished with 

less fracas; but the revolutionaries chose the easier way, which was to blow 
it to pieces with bombs; consequently the capitals, falling from so great a 
height, were nearly all destroyed. 

Among other notable things is a frieze from a twelfth century house, and 
a delicious cobbler's sign, of the same period, showing the man hard at work 
at his bench, assisted by his wife holding a little pot in both hands, while,, 
beside them, a fiddler passes the time in harmony. There is also a charm- 
ing Pascal Lamb, endowed with a seeing eye and a cloven fore-foot, which^ 




94 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

turned upwards, balances a Greek cross. Another remarkable stone is that 
known as the "Belle Pierre," so named from the street in which it was 
found, t It represents two knights tilting, and a bearded man riding upon 
a strange beast. 

Upstairs is a picture gallery containing old views of the Abbey, and a 
number of other things worth seeing, one of the most notable being a 
wooden chest of the fifteenth century, banded with iron, in which were 
kept the famous Rouleaux de Cluny, archives that disappeared during the 
Revolution. No official catalogue is published, so far as I am aware; but 
those who desire fuller information than I have given here, can find it in 
M. Penjon's book. 

The Hotel de Ville is the eastern-most building of the two forming 
the Abbot's palace. It was built by Jacques d'Amboise, in the early part of 
the seventeenth century, and, during the period of the Abbes Commenda- 
taires, was the official residence of the grand prior. It has been so much 
altered within as scarcely to be worth a visit, but the exterior, though some- 
what mutilated, retains much of its original charm. At the west entrance 
is a beautiful little tower, in transitional style, with a late Gothic arch, and 
cupids and foliage sculptured on the spandrils and the tympanum. 

The main eastern facade, though somewhat unusual, is of very effective 
design. Its chief characteristics are two square projecting towers, connected 
by a raised balcony, with a double staircase surmounted by an ornamental, 
pierced parapet. The stone towers are decorated with sculpture, in the 
form of flamboyant church-window tracery below, and panels above, carved 
with arabesques, foliage, lilies, grotesques, shell ornaments, etc., all in the 
purest and lightest style of that early Renaissance work, which the discovery 
of Italy by Charles VIII. had been the means of developing in France. 
The effect of the whole, though rather conscious and artificial, is quite 
pleasing and graceful. On the south wall is an inscription of Claude de 
Guise, 1586. 

From the buttressed terraces of the public gardens, around the Hotel de 
Ville, you get some fine views of Cluny and the Tour de I'Eau Benite, 
extending right away to the wooded hills beyond the valley of the Grosne. 



+ It was found in the fagade of a barn, but once formed part of the arch of a 

Romanesque house. 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 95 

Close to the great gate of the Abbey, in the Rue d'Avril, a narrow street 
leading upwards out of the Rue de la Republique, are a number of those 
Romanesque houses of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, for which Cluny 
is famous. Up to about sixty years ago, whole streets of this little Bur- 
gundian town had remained for seven or eight centuries almost unchanged, 
but the utilitarian and commercial spirit of the age has made itself felt, even 
in this out of the way corner of Burgundy, and, one by one, the Romanesque 
houses are disappearing. Two remain, however, in the middle of the town; 
and, in addition to those in the Rue d'Avril, there are two adjoining 
one another in the Rue de la Republique, above the Hotel de Ville. 
Beside these is a house of the fifteenth century. Indeed, it would be still 
possible, in this town, to trace the evolution of domestic architecture, almost 
without a break, from the twelfth century to the present time. 

The Romanesque houses of Cluny follow, pretty closely, a general type. 
The window arcades reveal at once the great influence of the abbey church. 
The majority of these houses are what we call terrace-built; and are entered 
from the street by a door which opens into the front room, or shop, and 
leads up the staircase to the first floor. At the back of the front room or shop 
was an open court yard, with a well in one corner of it. Across the 
court yard a covered passage led to a kitchen at the back. The upper floor 
was similar in design, with a roofed gallery leading to a room above the 
kitchen. The first floor front room was the bedroom of the tenant, his wife, 
and children; while the servants and apprentices did as best they could in the 
attic above; for the practice of rigidly separating the sexes did not come in 
until the twelfth century. Each house showed a pleasing elevation, and was 
erected with a solidity and elegance of design far excelling anything 
seen in the same class of building to-day. The shop front was formed by 
one great arch, without windows, but closed at night by a shutter, which, 
dropped during the day, formed a counter for the exhibition of the shopman's 
wares. Customers did not enter the shop, but transacted their business 
across the counter, and no tradesman might call a purchase from another 
shop until the latter had finished his boisiness. Different trades were kept 
together in particular streets — hence such names as the Rue des Tanneurs, 
which still exists in Cluny. Above the ground floor were two other stories, 
of which the upper one was generally lighted by an arcade of round-headed 
arches, imitated from the Abbey, with sculptured piers or colonnettes, sur- 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 97 

mounted by a carved cornice or architrave, and protected by overhanging 
eaves. + 

These charming houses w^ere among the earh'est examples of domest;'c 
architecture in stone, and it is very interesting to notice that the builders have 
made no attempt to adhere to the principles of vv^ooden construction; but have 
followed the right masters, the ecclesiastical builders. One of the best of the 
old houses is that popularly known as the Hotel des Monnaies, on the right 
as you go up the Rue d'Avril. In this case the windows are square-headed, 
but the most interesting characteristics are the projecting chimney, and the 
great arches, revealing the extraordinary thickness of the walls, a feature 
which lends some colour to the legend that this is the old mint of the Abtey. 
I will not mention any more particular houses; only let me assure the reader 
that he who walks the streets of Cluny remembering that the older portions 
of it are built with the very stones of the ruined abbey, will assuredly have 
his reward. 

The churches of the town are not particularly interesting. St. Marcel, a 
somewhat barrack-like building of the twelfth century, at the station end of 
the town has a good Clunisian clock-tower. The building is roofed with 
wood, because, having no buttresses, it would not stand the thrust of vault- 
ing. The eglise Notre Dame, in the centre of the town, is more attractive; 
though its thirteenth-century facade is mutilated. Birds rest upon the backs 
of the gargoyles, and upon the ends of the broken shafting; and dirty children 
play, all day long, upon the steps of the porch. The interior, however, has 
some good work in the capitals, mouldings, and vaulting shafts of the nave. 
The engaged vaulting shafts of the aisles are probably remains of an older 
church, as they have squared plinths and clawed angles, transitional in style. 
If anyone cares to see to what a plight the lost art of making stained glass 
can come, let him look at the tympanum of the door of Notre Dame de 
Cluny. The building adjoining the church has a Renaissance door, and a 
thirteenth-century arcade on the upper floor. 

There are two other houses, at least, in Cluny, to which, I suppose, I 
should draw attention. The first of them is the Hotel Dieu, a seventeenth- 
century building on the site of the old hospital of Cluny, of which a few 

+ For further particulars see the article on " Maisons " in VioUet-le-Duc's " Diction- 
naire Raisonn^," Tome vi., p. 222 and on. Also the chapter "Maisons 
Particulieres " in M. Penjon's book. 



98 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

vestiges yet remain. Neither the architecture, nor the kindred arts of that 
period, have ever aroused much enthusiasm in me; consequently, I remember 
almost nothing of the fabric itself, and my general impression is little more 
than a blaze of garden flowers, tempered by delicious palm-leaves, and 
dotted here and there with pale invalids, chatting in groups, or walking or 
sitting beside the flowers. Within the entrance hall the frail voices of nuns 
earnestly intoning prayers in unison awakened the religious spirit within me 
far more effectively than had the deserted nave of Notre Dame, or of St. 
Marcel. Their solemn chant and the austere cleanliness that reigned every- 
where, awed me so that I crept out on tip-toe into sunlight again, without 
more than a glance at the famous Bouillon statues that I had come there 
expressly to see. 

The Cardinal de Bouillon, abbot of Cluny from 1683 to 17 15, had 
intended to erect, to the memory of his father and mother, at the southern 
end of the small transept of the abbey church — opposite to the Chappelle 
Bourbon — a monumental tomb that should be worthy of a family and 
individual so illustrious as that brother of Turenne, who had faced Richelieu, 
and played a leading part in the Fronde. 

But the cardinal had reckoned without Louis XIV. That monarch, hear- 
ing of the project, made further inquiries; and decided, as the report of 
d'Aguerriau, which preceded the royal veto, put it, " That every part of this 
design tended equally to preserve and immortalize, by the religion of an ever- 
durable tomb, the too-ambitious pretensions of its author towards the origin 
and grandeur of his house." 

It was an ironical fate that chose such means for preserving the statues, 
which were already on their way from Rome. Had the Roi Soleil per- 
mitted the erection of the monument, not a vestige of it, probably, would 
have survived the Revolution; consequently, its statues would not, to-day, 
adorn the chapel of the Hotel Dieu at Cluny. The loss of the mausoleum 
we need not regret; but the statues, though, to my mind, too artificial and 
conscious to be pleasing, are carved with skill and vivacity, and are generally 
considered to be among the best examples of their kind. The bas-relief of 
the battle scene, on the plinth below the male figure, is, to many, the most 
interesting part of the work. 

On the way back to the town, on the right hand side, a lion, quite 
Byzantine in character, and taken, I imagine, from the abbey church, forms 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 



99 




the sign of the cafe " Lion d'Or." In the lower part of the town, in the 
Rue Prudhon, not far from the church of St. Marcel, is a modest little 
dwelling, whereon the passer-by may read the name of the greatest Bur- 
gundian painter, Prudhon, born there on April 4th, 1758. The French 
Correggio, as he has been called, after the Italian master who exercised most 
influence upon him, represents very faithfully, 
in the quality of his art, some of the character- 
istics of the land of its birth. On this more 
mountainous side of Burgundy, west of the 
Cote d'Or, we should expect to find, in a 
modified form, along with the typical Burgun- 
dian qualities of vivacity, strength, solidity, and 
grace, some of the passion, the sterner qualities 
of the harder, hill-bred race, more closely in 
touch with the sterner aspects of nature — 
especially in the case of one whose birth 
synchronized with the birth-throes of the 

great Revolution. It may be, too — and it appeals to one's historic 
sense to believe — that something of the stern ethical ideal of Cluny 
had passed into the mind of one who was born beneath the shadow of the 
abbey towers. Many of those, however, to whom the works of Prudhon are 
familiar, find greater pleasure in his lighter, allegorical paintings, such as 
those in the Musee at Montpellier, which, perhaps, show the influence of 
his predecessor Greuze, who, born in Tournus, by the wide pastures of the 
Saone, represents the more peaceful, pastoral, and lighter aspect of Bur- 
gundian art. 

In connection with Prudhon, and with a parallel drawn between his work 
and that of Greuze, M. Perrault-Dabot, in his book, "L'Art en Bourgogne," 
and Montegut also, in his "Souvenirs," speak of a type of feminine beauty at 
Cluny, which, I must confess, escaped my notice, as it did also the not un- 
observant eyes of my wife. 

"In the same way," says M. Perrault-Dabot, "the type of woman that 
one still meets to-day, at Cluny, recalls to us the shadowy grace and the 
warm suavity of Prudhon's talent. Cluny belongs to that region of our 
province where the massy heads and highly-coloured complexions that dis- 
tinguish the mountain-dweller, disappear, to give place to subtler, slighter 



loo BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

forms, and to faces of an exquisite pallor. It is not that perfect beauty in 
which every feature is regular; but it is beauty in its most suave and 
touching form." 

We vi^ere the more disappointed, because, though we had not expected to 
find in Cluny any rivals to the classic beauties of Aries and St. Remy, we 
had come prepared for a welcome break in the monotonous plainness of 
Burgundian humanity, a subject on which I shall have more to say later on. 
Yet the types we met hereabouts, if not, on the whole, attractive, were cer- 
tainly not without the individuality that natural vivacity imparts. My wife, 
sketching the great gate of the abbey, was scandalized by the inordinate 
amount of child-smacking indulged in by the mothers of the neighbourhood. 
I was not a witness on that occasion, but I am inclined to think, that, in most 
cases, she failed to allow for the excitability of a semi-southern temperament, 
and, could she have read them, would have found more hardness in the hands 
than in the hearts. 

The little Hotel de Bourgogne, a white, straggling old building, snuglv 
placed beneath the protecting walls of the Tour de I'Eau Benite, added its 
quota to our amusement. The ways of the establishment were refreshingly 
unconventional. For example, they rang neither bell nor gong for dinner, 
but sent up two maids, who popped their tousled heads simultaneously in at 
the bedroom door, and invited us to come down to a meal, which, by the 
way, quite maintained the traditions of later Clunisian luxe. 

The company, too, was notable. We sat at the head of the table. On 
my right was an individual whose cruel, yet suffering, face reminded me ot 
the executioner in Van der Weyden's great picture in the hospital at Beaune. 
I gathered that the digestive organs were the seat of his troubles; for he re- 
jected, with a grunt, the normal fare, preferring to dine on lightly-boiled 
eggs, whose liquid contents he imbibed by a peculiar, sucking process, that 
was, in its way, a clever, though noisy, gastronomic feat. 

To us there entered an angelic newsboy, ragged yet smiling. He dis- 
tributed evening " Matins " all round the table, and departed, as radiant as 
he had come. At the far end of the table, a- twentieth-century Mephis- 
topheles, with the traditional lowering brows and cunning smile, was trans- 
jnitting improper stories to a delighted Falstaffian neighbour; just as certain 
<iecadent fat abbots of Cluny were wont to do, over a bottle of sparkh'ng 
Meursault, in those generous, degenerate days. The ample man on his left 



THE MOTHER ABBEY loi 

listened covertly, and cleaned his mouth with his fingers, while the red wine, 
poured in that nervous, spasmodic, Burgundian manner, gurgled from the 
bottle neck into the bubbling, ruby lake below. 

After dinner, came coffee and cigars, in the little caf^ adjoining, of which 
the floor is covered with sawdust, and the ceiling with flies. Madame, a 
good-natured woman, dressed in flaming yellow satin, adorned with much 
lace and passementerie, and possessing a very arch manner, where the men 
were concerned, suggested to some of her intimates that they should join her 
in a game of cards. Two of them at once consented; but a third invite — an 
elephantine Burgundian voyageur de commerce — ruminating over a petit 
verre in the corner, declined, on the plausible pretext that he had " no small 
vices." Indeed, nothing about him was small ! For our part, we fell into 
agreeable conversation with another habitu^ of the hotel, a gentleman also 
suffering from the amplitude engendered by two six-course meals a day, 
washed down with copious libations of red wine. He displayed a kindly in- 
terest in my wife's sketches, and was particularly complimentary concerning 
one reproduced in this book, representing a corpulent person — who might 
well have been himself — sitting on a dangerously small chair before a caf^ 
table. 

He had commenced to practise upon us his limited supply of English, 
when our intercourse was interrupted, during the temporary absence of 
Madame on domestic duties, by the advent, through the balcony leading to 
the street, of a small pinched boy and girl, both in advanced stages of tatters 
and dirt, who abruptly announced their intention of entertaining us with a 
" petit chanson." Taking our silence for consent, they stood, side by side, 
in the middle of the sanded floor, and, lifting grimy faces to the fly-spotted 
ceiling, proceeded, with one accord, to give vent to a series of extraordinarily 
discordant sounds, which, to the universal relief, were interrupted by the re- 
appearance of Madame, who bustled into the room, and " shoved " the 
juvenile vocalists out of it, barely giving them time to collect largesse during 
their flight. 

" Two young hooligans ! " (apaches), she said severely, and, smoothing the 
ruffled yellow satin, sat down again to enjoy her " small vice." 

That night I dreamed a dream, I was back in the twelfth century, as a 
brother, participating in a solemn mass in the great abbey of Cluny. The 
sanctuary and the transepts of the mighty church were flooded in the soft 



102 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



light, that, streaming from gold and jewelled candelabras, flickered upon the 
bent forms of the dark-robed priests, and threw into strong relief the flutings 
of the pilasters that adorned the huge piers, and the strange birds and beasts 
that gazed from the foliage of the capitals. Above us, the lines of the soar- 
ing vault were lost in eternal shadows, and before us a thousand lights and 
jewels blazed upon the High Altar, where Hugues himself, gloriously 
arrayed in cope and mitre, was kneeling before the holy rood. The solemn 

chanting of the mass sobbed and 
echoed down the lofty nave, across 
the shadowy aisles, and up to where, 
upon the eastern dome, the Eternal 
Father Himeslf, cloud-borne, among 
the symbols of His creation, lifted 
the Right Hand in blessing, and 
laid His Left Hand upon the Book 
sealed with seven seals. Suddenly, 
while our souls were pouring them- 
selves out in rapt adoration, a fear- 
ful detonation resounded above our 
heads. Startled, terrified, we looked 
up. As we did so, while yet the 
echoes of the shock were rolling 
through the upper darkness, a series 
of crackling explosions shook the 
whole fabric to its foundations. 
The floor heaved, the vaulting above our heads cracked from side 
to side, the huge pillars trembled and tottered. Then an awful 
cry of alarm was stilled into the louder silence of horror, as the whole 
mighty building swayed, and towers, columns, vaults, and capitals collapsed, 
and, with an appalling crash and a roar like the fall of many waters, buried 

all in universal ruin I awoke — to find myself yet alive, in the 

prosaic twentieth century, while from the house opposite proceeded uproari- 
ous sounds of revelry by night, carried on with that sustained exuberance 
which the Latin races alone can impart to their festivals. It was not Cluny 
that was falling again, but furniture, glasses and crockery. Then it all 
came back to me — the tale I had heard of the impending marriage of Yvonne. 




THE MOTHER ABBEY 103 

They were worthily celebrating the occasion. Blessings upon her! I rose 
and leaned out of the casement. Two or three songs were being song, 
simultaneously, to the accompaniment of a running chorus of applause, and 
an obligato with the chairs of the salon. 

Until the orgy was at an end, I lay awake, meditating upon my dream, 
and finding, to my sorrow, a real historical analogy between that tipsy revel 
and the ever-to-be-regretted fall of the stones of Cluny. 



The next morning, I started on my bicycle for Berze-le Chatel, a castle 
about twelve miles from Cluny, on the road to Macon. On the steps of the 
hotel I was accosted affably, in the English tongue, by a gentleman, whose 
face was quite unfamiliar to me. He assured me, however, that he had met 
us at Bourg en Bresse; and I, being unable either to deny or to affirm the 
assertion, must needs listen. Having finished with the weather, he paused, 
turned, waved his hand towards the gray abbey tower, that rose above our 
heads, and said majestically, with an air of imparting valuable information; 
" C'est ancien." Being still heavy for want of sleep, I just cursed him 
inwardly, and went my ways. 

As you mount the road that winds upwards towards Berze, there opens out 
a most lovely view over the green valley of the Grosne, whose windings are 
marked by tall poplars, through which shine the distant towers and hills of 
Cluny. Then come four or five kilometres of typical Burgundian climbing, 
before you gain the crest of the ridge, and find yourself looking down, and 
away for mile after mile, until, between a succession of rugged hills, that lie 
like prehistoric monsters couchant towards the southern sun, among golden 
vineyards dotted with ancient villages and immemorial walls, the serpenting, 
poplar-fringed stream is lost to sight, where at last, far off, in the blue 
distance, the valley merges into the great plain of the Saone. To the left, 
on a spur of the hill, guarding proudly the hamlet that shelters at its base, 
rise the time-bronzed towers of the great castle of Berze. 

The Castle of Berze, now the residence of the Comte de Milly, became 
one of the defensive fortresses of the Abbey and town of Cluny, according 
to the treaty of 1250, which, through the intervention of Blanche de 
Castille, set forth the respective powers, and adjusted the somewhat strained 
relations of the lords of Berzd and the Abbots of Cluny. It gave to the 



I04 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



Seigneurs of Berze-ie Chatel, the right to administer justice over the 
abbatial lords in the neighbourhood of the castle, including Berze-la Ville. 
Moreover, it bound the tenants of these lands to come together " at the 
clamour of the castle," to defend and guard it, in return for which assistance, 
they were granted, in war time, the right of shelter within the fortress, both 
for themselves and their goods. From that time forward, the Abbots and 
Seigneurs were on such good terms, that some of the latter subscribed liber- 
ally to the Abbey, and even obtained the privilege of burial within its 
precincts. 




In legend, as well as in history, Berze has played its part. A Seigneur of 
the castle, it is said, piqued by a morbid curiosity, shut up in the lowest 
donjon an ox and a man, that he might know which would die iirst. Tradi- 
tion avers that his passion for knowledge remained unsatisfied, since 
both died together. In 13 15, Geoffrey de Berze, tiring of his 
diurnal occupations, namely, hunting in the morning and beating his 
servants at night, raised an impious hand against, and let it descend upon, 
the archdeacon of Macon, who, through the chapter, brought a complaint 
before parliament; with the result that Geoffrey and his successors were 
condemned, in perpetuity, to burn, every year, a candle of fifty pounds 
weight in the choir of the cathedral of Macon. This fine was still being 
paid, up to the close of the eighteenth century, when it was customary to set 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 105 

forth in bad verses, on a card at the foot of the chandeh'er that carried the 
candle, an explanation of this "amende honorable." 

Berze-le Chatel was prominent, too, in those bloody wars of the Arma- 
gnacs and Bourguignons, which, for more than thirty years, drenched the 
stricken land of France in the blood of her bravest men. Later on, it fell 
into the hands of the Dauphin, afterwards Charles VII., who, by magnifi- 
cent promises, succeeded in inducing the governor to betray the Duke 
of Burgundy. It did not remain long in the hands of the French; for local 
knowledge of the subterranean passages soon effected its recapture by the 
Burgundians, who, to the terror of the French soldiers, seemed to have arisen 
mysteriously from the earth. The last siege of the castle took place in 1591, 
when the Due de Namours after making a breach in the walls with artillery, 
captured it for the Huguenots, whose attacks it had resisted hitherto.* 

A path leads off the road, down through the vines, and up to the cottages 
at the castle foot, where you can climb, by another steep stony way, to the 
great, double-towered gate, guarded by machicolations and port-cullis, and 
bearing the coat-of-arms of the house of Berze. Within is a lawn, 
encircling a little pond, and an ivied avenue of ancient firs, whose 
sombre hues set off, in summer, the vivid scarlet of the geraniums, and the 
soft tints of the laburnum. Crossing this grassy, stoutly-walled terrace, you 
pass beneath another fortified gate, where scarlet creepers cling, to the court 
yard of the castle, bright with beds of fuschias, and masses of ball-shaped 
white flowers. Shade is given by a great walnut-tree; and here, too, is an 
adjunct, indispensable now, as in mediaeval times, — a well. The fafade of 
the house shows, upon its soft, gray stone, the typical cupid's bow windows 
of the fifteenth century. Across the dwarf wall, the view extends away, 
eastward, over a lower terrace, to the trimly-kept kitchen gardens, and 
ancient out-buildings; westward to the vine-clad hills. This is a castle of 
enchantment, in whose flowery courts one can re-call visions of the purple 
past that has floated over the towers of Berze. 

Leaving the castle, and passing down the great double avenue of walnuts 
and sycamores which connect it with the romanesque church of the Village 
of Berze, I stood, looking at the curious staircase that leads, between roofed- 
in buttresses, to the church tower. An old woman passed me, carrying, by 
a yoke on her shoulders, two large buckets of water. 

* " Cluny, la Ville et I'Abbaye," par A. Penjon, pp. 4 — 5. 



io6 



BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



"Whose castle is this, Madame?" 

" This is Monsieur le Comte de Milly's, monsieur," and she bowed 
slightly; whether to me or to the great name, I do not know. Two jets 
of water splashed over her sabots. 

We went our ways; she looking down at her wet feet, and I thinking 
of the Marquis of Carabas — not by reason of any legendary connection 
between that potentate and the chateau of Berze, but because the turn of 
her phrase had recalled my first reading of "Puss in Boots." 

Another of the guardian castles of Cluny, that to which in dangerous 
times the treasures, charts, and title deeds of the Abbey were taken, was the 
Chateau de Lourdon. It was pillaged in 1575 by the partisans of the Due 
d'Alen^on, who burned so many of the original papers that Claude de Guise, 
after his reconciliation with Henry IV., obtained letters patent rendering 
valid the existing copies of the parchments. In 1632, Richelieu, who had 
obtained possession of the Abbey of Cluny, ordered the demolition of the 



r^^O. 




donjon and castle of Lourdon, a command so faithfully carried out that 
nothing was left of the fortress, except what is to be seen to-day — a ruined 
ivy-hung wall, its line broken by a round tower, through whose windows 
you can see the concierge moving, and by a curious row of great columns, 
like organ pipes, now generally supposed to be the remains of kind of 
mediaeval tennis court. From the castle rising high above the bush-covered 
rocks, you can look down over the grape vines to the village of Lourdon, and 
the hills of the Grosne valley. Looking up at it, through the houses of the 



THE MOTHER ABBEY 107 

village street, it must have appeared a not unworthy guardian of a trust so 
great as were the treasures of Cluny. 

The best way to get there by the valley road from Cluny, is to turn up 
the hill when you come to a small sentinel tower. If you ask the way, you 
will probably be told, as we were, to turn at the next lane, which is longer, 
less convenient, and gives a much less striking approach to the castle. Per- 
sistent mis-direction of strangers is a common Burgundian failing. 



Those who have wandered about the streets of Cluny may have happened 
upon the late fifteenth century, or early sixteenth century, house of the Prat 
family, the ancestors of the poet Lamartine, whose name is frequently heard 
by travellers in the Maconnais or the Dauphine; though the nation as a 
whole, soon forgot him, after that swiftly rising wave of latin enthusiasm 
had swept him into the seats of the mighty, and, receding, had dragged him 
with it, to face, as best he might, the obscure, penniless life of a literary hack. 

His birthplace, at Milly, is not now in existence; but the prospect of see- 
ing the family Chateau de Saint Point, where part of his youth, and some 
later years of retirement, were passed, tempted me to pay a visit to that 
valley. In a very improbable, though naturally written and pathetic study 
of rustic life, "Le Tailleur de Pierres de St. Point " — he who died of that, 
unhappily, rare malady, the love of God — we have Lamartine's own descrip- 
tion of his home. 

From the mountain side projects a low hill "dominated at its summit by 
an old castle flanked by compact towers, and by the notched spire of a 
romanesque church tower. At the foot of the hill are pastures bordered with 
alders, cherry and large nut trees, between whose trunks can be seen the 
walls, roofs and rustic bridge of a hamlet built in the shadow of the castle 
and comprising fifteen or twenty cottages of workmen, small farmers or shop- 
keepers, all grouped around the village church. These old towers, under- 
mined at their bases by the weather, and cracked by the weight of stone above 
them, shorn of the spires at their summits, are useless to-day, except to flank 
a heavy square mass of naked stone, pierced with a winding stair and several 
vaulted rooms — such is my abode. . . . Thence the view, falling and 
rising, extends over the most beautiful part of the valley of St. Point. One's 
glance, following the rapid slope of the pastures, rests upon a field through 



io8 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

the middle of which runs the river 'Vallonge.' Great nut trees with bronze 
foh'age, motionless as metal leaves, poplars with trunks storm-twisted, and 
with foliage more hairy and whiter than the head of an old man, European 
cypresses, alders, birches, willows rescued by me, twenty-five years ago now, 
from the bill of the tree-trimmer, leaning from bank to bank of the river they 
love and are loved by, interwoven over its course, form a lofty, floating, 
capricious vault of foliage of every tint, a very mosaic of vegetation. The 
lightest airs of summer sway this moving curtain, and summon thence v/aves 
of sound, breathings, the watery sheen of leaves, flights of birds and vegetable 
scents, which gladden the eyes, vary the outlook, and rise in sweet sounds and 
wandering fragrances to the balcony of my house." 

This balcony was the construction in sculptured stone, in imitation of the 
old Gothic Balustrades of Oxford, that he had added to the principal facade. 
Here the peacocks perching, day and night, bordered its heavy stones with a 
row of living caryatides, as they spread their brilliant tails to the sun.f 

Meanwhile, with such passages as these in my mind, I was making for the 
village. Having climbed the winding staircase that leads up to the terraced 
churchyard, I saw, as I drew near, across the tangled graves, the tomb or 
Lamartine, a pretentious, but quite unsuccessful, production, in bastard gothic 
style, the interior hung round with horrible wreaths of artificial flowers. On 
a pedestal was a bust of the poet, with a metal urn on each side, and, below, 
a recumbent statue of his wife, and memorials of other descendants. 

It was with a feeling of intense relief that I turned from the artificial to 
the real, to the monument in which nature's art, that is not artifice, has 
immortalized the memory of Lamartine. 

Here is the primitive little romanesque church, whose gracious tower is 
now hoary with years, and golden with the kisses of the sun. One's glance 
rests long upon those stones, where, above the slender colonettes, among the 
waving grasses, wild flowers, ferns, and soft moss of the slag roof, the stone 
corner-heads of a thousand years ago watch silently over a tree-embowered, 
weed-entangled, dreamy garden of the dead. For these are the living 
memorials of a poet — the wide, green meadow of the valley, the undulating 
boughs, and gray and silver glimpses of the breeze-swung poplars, the red 
tiles of the ancient village, the stream willow-fringed, the creamy cattle 
browsing in upland pastures, the gracious contours of woodland hill, touched 
t " Le Tailleur de Pierre de St. Point," cap. vii., viii. 



THE MOTHER ABBEY log 

by Autumn's mellowing hand, the blue dome above, whose silver islands float 
on the wings of a warm, south wind. 

His memories linger, too, in melodious songs, sung by poets not less than 
he, the lark in the blue, the thrush on the bough, the zephyrs among the 
leaves; the distant tap, tap, tap, of the woodpecker in the far-off forest, or 
of some follower of that stone-cutter of St. Point, with whom Lamartine, 
high up in the mountain quarry, talked of the ways of God with man. One 
day, perhaps, France will realize these truths; then she will cease to dese- 
crate, with hideous monuments, the open spaces of her ancient villages, and 
the resting place of her illustrious dead. 

Having been assured by a villager that visits to the Chateau were per- 
mitted, encouraged even, I effected an entrance to the grounds, through a 
gate in the wall on the north side of the church. The building appears to 
be a patchwork of many dates, marred by some wretched, modern imitations, 
and the hideous device, not infrequent hereabouts, of painting sham gothic 
windows on a plaster wall; but the general effect of the whole, matured by 
age, set in finely timbered grounds, is not unpleasing. I wish I could say the 
same for my welcome, which might be summed up in these words : "Come 
in, go through; damn you, get out!" 

The cicerone who, by the way, was kind enough to inform me that no 
part of the building was of earlier date than the nineteenth century,+ was so 
rude that I felt much more disposed to discuss with her, gently but firmly, 
the question of manners, than to look at the many relics she was able to 
show me.§ 

It is obvious that only three courses are open to the owner of an historic 
house. He can refuse admission to the public; he can grant admission un- 
conditionally; or he can grant admission on payment, or on other reasonable 
conditions; but, upon whatever terms he admits you, he must make you 
welcome, so long as you, in your turn, conform to the exigencies of polite 
society. A thinly veiled attitude of hostility deprives the self-respecting 

J In the sixteenth century the castle was occupied by Guillaume de St^ Point, 
Governor of Macon, a bitter enemy of the Calvinists. 

§ You are shown the bed on which he died, many interesting photographs, articles 
of wearing apparel, and other personal relics of Lamartine, also many 
paintings by Mme. Lamartine, an English lady. There are others in the 
church. 



no BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

visitor of ail pleasure. Be it added, however, lest I should discourage others 
from visiting the castle, that the account of my experience was received most 
apologetically by several villagers, who assured me that the present inhabit- 
ants were "gentils," and that my cold reception must have been due to the 
fact, of which I was, of course, unaware, that there was illness in the house. 
My wrath having been appeased by lunch, and the attentions of a good- 
natured hostess, I proceeded boldly to climb to the head of the Valley of St. 
Point, and, after many kilometres of very hard work, was rewarded by a 
look back over the Valley, from below Tramaye. In the middle distance, 
shone, in the afternoon sun, bronze and white among the tapering poplars, 
the Village of St, Point, crowned by the ancient gray church; and, higher 
yet, the sombre trees of the garden, and the towers of Lamartine's chateau. 
Above Tramaye, itself a very eagle's eerie, one by one the lower valleys open 
out to view, until, at last, crossing the "col,' you descend, for kilometre after 
kilometre, to Clermain in the Valley of the Grosne, one of the once-forti- 
fied advance-guard villages protecting the approach to Cluny from the South. 





iriORE POPE THAN TOU 



CHAPTER VII 

Purity and simplicity having been always potent factors in the develop- 
ment of the spiritual life, it followed, as the night the day, that Cluny's ever- 
growing indulgencies and luxury, while they sapped her own strength, laid 
her open to supercession by the devotees of an uncorrupted order. By the 
time of Pierre le Venerable, that rival had already arisen. The Cistercian 
Order, under the rule of St. Bernard, at Clairvaux, had already supplanted 
Cluny as the first religious power of Europe. The story of the rise of 
Citeaux is full of legendary and historical interest. 

About the middle of the eleventh century, Eringarde, the wife of Theo- 
doric, a nobleman of Normandy, was about to become a mother. On the 
eve of the expected birth, the Holy Virgin appeared to the lady, and showed 
to her a golden ring, saying : "With this ring I betrothe to myself the son 
whom you shall bring into the world." The child was baptized under the 
name of Robert. When he was grown up, and had heard the story of his 
mother's vision, he left his native home, and betook himself to Burgundy, 
there to consecrate a monastery to the cult of God and St. Mary. The spot 
he chose for the foundation, in the year 1075, was in the forest of Mol^me, 
beyond Chatillon. There a company of fellow anchorites built, of he 
branches of trees, a chapel in honour of the Virgin, and there, in that solitude, 



112 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

they led a life so austere, so laborious, so fervent, that the monks of Mol^me 
came to be known rather as angels than men. 

But, before many years had passed, abundance and prosperity had brought 
about a general lassitude, and departure from the austerity of the early rule. 
Robert's disciples mutinied against their Abbot, who then knew that the time 
for departure was come. Early in the year 1098, a little band of Benedic- 
tine monks, twenty-one in number, including Robert, the prior, and sub-prior, 
might have been seen issuing from the abbey gateway of Moleme. They 
took with them no other provision for their travels than the vestments and 
sacred vessels for the celebration of the most holy mysteries, and a large 
breviary for the due performance of the divine office. Through wild and 
rugged paths, by mountain and forest, they journeyed on, chanting tne divine 
praises, until, in the midst of the great plain of Burgundy, they came upon 
a vast solitude, the haunt of wild beasts, which, among the forest trees, found 
shelter in the underwood and brambles. Here, as they wended their way 
along the banks of a stream, beside reed-fringed, stagnant pools, where only 
the discordant cry of the water-fowl broke the awful silence of nature, the 
travellers heard a voice from Heaven, crying "Sistite hie!" (halt here), and 
knew that this forest was the spot in which God willed that they should serve 
Him. 

Obtaining grant of the land, and aid, from Eudes, Duke of Burgundy, 
and the Vicomte de Beaune, whose it was, they raised their monastery, which 
was solemnly dedicated, on the 21st March, 1098, to the Virgin Mary, and 
named Citeaux, in memory of the divine command they had heard.* 

St. Robert stayed only for one year in Citeaux, before an order of the 
sovereign pontiff recalled him to Moleme; but the new monastery con- 
tinued to flourish under the guidance of Stephen Harding, a young English 
monk. 

About this time it pleased the Virgin to show conspicuously to the brethren 
her good pleasure in the life they were leading in her honour. One day, 
when they were chanting matins, Mary, Queen of Heaven and Earth, 
resplendent in glory, appeared to them with the first rays of the dawn, and, 
in a moment, with a touch of her hand, changed the tawny robes of the 
Cistercians into garments of spotless purity. The vision vanished; but cowl 

*Some authorities think that the name refers to the many pools, overgrown with 
bulrushes and other aquatic plants — Cit-eaux. 



MORE POPE THAN YOU 113 

and tunic retained the dazzling brilliancy of snow. Then the pious ceno- 
bites understood that they must adopt, henceforth, the white dress, as symbol 
of her — that flawless lily-of-the-valley — whose servants they were, and to- 
wards whose unspotted purity they were ever to strive, f 

In after years, when the black monks reproached the Cistercians with 
wearing a garment fit only for a time of joy, whilst the monastic state was 
one of penitence, the white monks would answer, that the religious life was 
not only one of penitence, but was like that of the angels, and therefore they 
wore white garments to show the spiritual joy of their hearts. + The Cister- 
cian habit bore about it another touch of grace, derived from long and holy 
association. In the black scapular, worn over the white tunic, broad about 
the shoulders, then falling in a narrow strip to the feet, they saw the form ot 
the Lord's cross, and thus they loved to bear it about with them, even in 
their sleep. § And notwithstanding their coarser bread, hard beds, and 
clothing no better than that of the peasantry, there was ever a cheerfulness 
about the Cistercians that comes always to him whose heart beats in sym- 
pathy with the warm heart of mother nature, whose work lay where their 
days were passed, not in towns, but in sequestered valleys and lonely uplands, 
among fruitful vineyard, meadow, and cornfield. 

After a while, upon Citeaux, too, in its turn, came evil days, when one by 
one the monks fell away and died, until Stephen began to doubt whether the 
austerities of his rule were not above human strength, and to fear that God 
had willed the destruction of the new community. One day, when he, with 
his brothers, was seated at the bed-side of a dying priest, he told the sufferer 
of his fear, and ordered him, in Christ's Name, to return from among the 
dead, and reveal to him God's Will concerning the future of the Abbey. 

+The author of " A Concise History of the Cistercian Order," cap. iii. p. 67, states 
that tradition assigns the appearance of the vision to St. Alberic, but he adds 
that the immediate historical cause of the adoption of the white habit is some- 
what mysterious. I venture to think that the legendary cause was also the 
historical one, seeing that all the Cistercian houses were dedicated to " the 
Queen of Heaven and Earth, Holy Mary." Moreover, what more natural than 
such a symbol in a wholly symbolical age? 

JSee Life of St. Stephen in " Cistercian Saints " quoted in " A Concise History 
of the Cistercian Order." p. 68. 

§Martenne Thes. Anec. Tome v., p. 1650, quoted in " History of Cistercian Order." 

p. 71. 



114 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

The monk promised to do so, in so far as might be permitted him. Then 
he died. 

Some days after the passing of that brother, Stephen, at work in the fields, 
gave the signal for rest. Withdrawing himself from the others, he knelt 
down to pray, when the dead monk, ashine with heavenly light, and seeming 
rather to float above the ground than to be standing upon it, appeared to him. 

"Father," said he, "The Lord Christ has sent me to tell you that your way 
of life is good in His sight, and that the desolation and sterility of Citeaux 
are about to pass away. Soon your children will be saying to you, 'Make 
room for us; the abode is too narrow; enlarge its boundaries.' Multitudes 
of men will come to range themselves beneath your crook, and among them 
shall be many learned ones, and many a lord. Your disciples, in number iS 
bees when they swarm, shall go hence to found new abbeys in far off lands." 

Not long after this vision, one evening, in the year 1113, whilst Stephen 
and the remnant of his little flock were imploring God to fulfil His promises, 
a band of thirty persons, under the guidance of a young man, was slowly 
traversing the forest towards the abbey. Soon the sound of the iron knocker, 
clanging upon the gate, summoned the porter, whose bell announced the 
arrival of strangers. The new-comers entered, prostrated themselves at the 
feet of Stephen, and begged to be admitted into the number of his monks. 
They were a notable company; young lords, noble in feature and deport- 
ment, from among the greatest houses in Burgundy; older men who had 
shone in the councils of princes, and had worn, hitherto, only the furred 
mantle, or the steel hauberk, now to be exchanged for the lowly cowl of St. 
Benedict. 

"At the head of the troops was a young man of about twenty-three years 
of age, of exceeding beauty. He was rather tall of stature, his neck long 
and delicate, his whole frame very thin like that of a man in weak health. 
His hair was of a light colour, and his complexion fair; but with all its 
pallor, there was a virgin bloom spread over the thin skin of his cheek; an 
angelic purity and a dove-like simplicity shone forth from his eye, which 
showed at once the serene chastity of his soul."* Such, in aspect, was 

♦Cistercian Saints " cap. xiii., quoted in " A Concise History of the Cistercian 
Order." Chevalier speaks also of a boy face, and a white forehead ; and adds 
that his bearing would have appeared proud but for a slight drooping of the 
head upon the shoulders, which lent sweetness to his general appearance. 



MORE POPE THAN YOU 115 

Bernard, the young saint, who, before many years had passed, was to be the 
dominant force in the policies of western Europe 

Bernard's origin was not less worthy than that of his companions. His 
father, Tescelin le Roux (the Red), could trace back his descent through the 
chevaliers of old, to immemorial times. Born at Chatillon on Seine, he 
belonged to the seigneurial family of that town, though he resided much at 
his castle of Fontaines-les-Dijon, where Bernard was born, only a short 
distance from the Burgundian capital. Tescelin's wife, Alethea, was 
descended in direct line from the Counts of Montbard, and through them 
was connected with the Dukes of Burgundy, in whose court, as counsellor of 
Eudes I. and Hugues IL, Tescelin was high in favour. He was a man ot 
honour, strong and firm of character; she, a girl of fifteen at the time of her 
marriage, was of gentle disposition, sorrowing often because God had seen 
fit to thwart her leanings towards the cloister life. As the mother or 
Bernard, third of her seven children, a yet nobler destiny was reserved for 
her. Shortly before the birth of this third child, there came to Alethea a 
mysterious dream, in which she seemed to see, imprisoned within her own 
body, a little red and white dog, who barked without ceasing. Astonished 
and troubled by this vision, she consulted a priest, as to what it might mean. 
His interpretation filled her heart with joy. 

"Fear not," said he, "You are to become the mother of a marvellous child. 
Like unto a faithful dog he will keep guard over the House of the Lord, and 
shall make his cry heard against the enemies of the faith. He shall surpass 
all other preachers, and his word, full of light and authority, shall be 
the saving of many."t 

The young child in every way fulfilled the heavenly promise; yet, for 
many a year, he was torn mentally between the calls of the world and of the 
cloister; both in his early training at the schools of Chatillon-sur-Seine, and 
later, when in spiritual solitude, at the chateau of Fontaines, he looked down 
upon the dead body of his mother. The world would not yield, without a 
struggle, so promising a recruit as Bernard, whose father, never dreaming 
that the gates of the monastery were soon to close upon him too, was not 
alone in his endeavours to keep his son from the religious life. Bernard, 
however, was proof against all persuasion; nor was it long before his fast- 

tGuill. Vit. S. Bern: lib. i, n. 2. Quoted Chevalier's " Histoire de St. Bernard," 

p. 8. 



ii6 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

developing strength of character and conviction caused him, in his turn, to 
become the aggressor. One by one the brothers were won over, until, at 
last, all, save Gerard, were upon Bernard's side. Resolute, he still turned 
v/itl' indignation from all the young saints proposals. Bernard laid his hand 
upon his brother's side : 

"I see," said he, " that misfortune alone can enlighten thee. A day is 
coming, and it is not far off, when a lance shall pierce this body, and open, 
towards the heart, an easy passage to the thought of salvation." 

And so it came about; for some days later, at the siege of the castle 
of Grancy, Gerard fell, struck by a lance; and, covered with blood, was 
carried into the fortress prison. Then he recalled Bernard's saying, saw his 
destiny clearly, and accepted the religious life. 

Bernard's brothers were among the company who had knocked that day at 
the gate of Citeaux. The new-comers remained for a week in the guest 
house of the monastery. On the eighth day they were taken into the 
chapter house, where the Abbot and his monks were assembled. As they 
knelt before him, the Abbot put to each of them the question prescribed by 
the rule : 

"What seek you ? " to which they replied in turn : 

"My Father, God's Mercy, and your's." Then were read to them the 
stricter points of the Cistercian rule, and the Abbot dismissed them saying, 

"My sons; may God fulfil in you that which His Grace has begun."* 

From the commencement of his novitiate, Bernard practised austerities 
that were severe — even for a Cistercian. He would kneel until, on rising, 
his swollen limbs refused, almost, to support him, and, while always ready 
with a helping hand to lighten the toil of other monks in the forest or the 
marsh, he prepared himself for his labours with nourishment so poor that his 
body wasted and fever consumed him, until his life was despaired of. De- 
voting all his mind to the inward and spiritual, to answering well the ques- 
tion he was always asking himself, "Bernarde ad quid venisti?" (Bernard, 
wherefore art thou here?), he seems to have been almost unobservant of out- 
ward things. The old chronicler relates how, one day, being thirsty, the 
saint drank, without noticing its taste, (nihil sapiebat gustandi) a jar of oil 
whose contents he had mistaken for water. On another occasion, when 



*Chevalier's " Life of St. Bernard." p. 55. 



MORE POPE THAN YOU 117 

asked whether the ceiling of his cell was flat or vaulted, he was quite unable 
to answer. 

The immediate result of the coming of such a man, with such com- 
panions, was an enormous increase in the numbers and power of that order. 
Postulates flocked in hundreds to the Abbey of Citeaux, and, by the year 
1 1 13, it had become necessary to establish daughter abbeys. The first was 
La Ferte (Firmitas), so called to signify the strength and consistency that 
the Almighty had already bestowed upon the rising order. Then followed 
Pontigny, where Bernard's friend, Hugues de Macon, was sent as abbot; 
then, in 1115, Morimond, and Clairvaux (Claire Vallee)— once the robber- 
haunted Valley of Wormwood. Before long, the order had the choice ot 
the fairest fields of France; indeed, of all Europe. 

But Clairvaux had no abbot; and Citeaux must supply one. The choice 
fell upon St. Bernard, twenty-five years of age, hardly out of his novitiate, 
scarce able to support the exercise of his rule, and little fitted, as it seemed, 
to undertake a voyage of discovery to the loneliest forest in all the diocese 
of Langres. Yet he must go. 

The form in which such an expedition set out was characteristic, and im- 
pressive in its simplicity. The monks, having been assembled by sound of 
the bell, all the community went down upon their knees. After a long 
silence, the Abbot intoned a psalm; then, taking a cross of wood from the 
altar, he handed it, as the token of office, to the new Abbot. The latter 
received it in silence, kissed it, still without speaking, and left his stall, 
followed by twelve other monks, symbols of the Christ and apostles. All 
the brothers then ranged themselves in the cloister, while, with heads bowed, 
the thirteen passed between them. Silently the gates of the monastery swung 
open, revealing to all a glimpse of the dangerous world beyond. The pil- 
grims filed out; and the clang of closing gates announced the termination 
of the ceremony. 

We have not space to follow further the career of the "Last of the 
Fathers," as he was called, or to trace in detail the growth of an influence 
so extraordinary, that about the year 1148, we find Pierre le Venerable, 
Abbot of Cluny, writing of "Bernard of Clairvaux, the splendid and im- 
movable column that sustains not the monastic order only, but the entire 
church," while Bernard himself, broken down by the weight of affairs pres- 
sing upon him, writes to Eugene III : "People are pretending everywhere 



ii8 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

that you are not pope, but I; and all who have business, flock to me for help,'' 
(Aiunt non vos esse papam, sed me). Geoffrey, Bernard's secretary and 
successor, writing two years after his master's death, said : "Whoso has met 
Bernard has seen Christ. For in him the whole Christ dwelt."* 

Without, indeed, going so far in praise as did his secretary, we may agree 
that Bernard's character comprised most of those elemental virtues, that, 
blended, make the perfect man. In him, calmness and vehemence, tender- 
ness and serenity, tenacity and flexibility, vivid imagination and unswerving 
rectitude, were all present; ever ready to meet the necessities of any occa- 
sion that might arise. With all these varied gifts he never flattered, never 
betrayed the truth, never dissembled the sacred ardour that burned within 
him. Everywhere he was listened to with profound respect; his stern voice 
was heard in the cottages of the poor, and in the palaces of kings. Neither 
his enthusiasm, nor his ceaseless activities, caused him to lose lucidity nor 
precision of argument in debate. His repartee was gentle and penetrating; 
swift to disentangle truth from error, without practising the subtleties of the 
schools. He was that rarest of phenomena, a practical idealist, an enlighteneti 
fanatic. And with all these varied faculties, high above men of his time 
though his intellect was, he remained ever a true son of the Church, nor 
sought to free himself from the yoke of Catholic authority. Therein lay 
the secret of his subsequent bitter antagonism to the teachings of Abelard. 

A few words as to Cistercian ideals, and especially as to Cistercian rule, 
as compared with that of Cluny, may not be out of place here. 

For the sites of all their monasteries, they chose invariably lonely and wild 
lands, marshy valleys, swamps, or lake, or forest, where the monks would be 
under no temptation from the vicinity of worldly attractions, nor from too 
close contact with the secular clergy, whose influence was sometimes harm- 
ful. The Cistercian's first duty was the first duty of man — to reclaim the 
dark places of the earth from watery desolation to culture and fertility; just 
as, later on, the first duty of preaching friars was to win back the souls ot 
men, from the power of Satan unto God. Faurtride, third abbot of Clair- 
vaux, quotes St. Bernard as giving another reason. " It is not suflRcient for 
a monk to allege illness (as an excuse for shirking the austerities of the rule). 
The holy fathers, our predecessors, sought deep damp valleys for their 



Chevalier's " St. Bernard,' vol. xi., p. 357. 



MORE POPE THAN YOU 



iig 



monasteries, so that the monks might be often ailing, and having death always 
before their eyes, should never live in security."! 

It may be well imagined, that an order founding its houses upon such 
sites, and for such a reason, did not err upon the side of indulgence. The 
rule was more strict, even, than that 
followed by Ciuny in early days, both 
as regards abstinence from food and the 
rigid enforcement of silence. Vegetables 
were not to be served with fat or butter; 
meat was absolutely forbidden, unless 
sometimes to the sick; and fish, except 
herrings during Advent and Lent, was 
allowed only on rare occasions. When 
Pope Innocent II. visited Clairvaux in 
1 131, the monks had a hard task to find 
a single herring for his table. In the 
matter of clothing, too, they were much 
more simple than the Clunisians, and 
closer to the Benedictine rule; for 
instance, the gloves, boots, and furred 
pelisses, permitted in the older abbey 
during the winter, were forbidden to 
monks of the rival order. 

The whole secret of Citeaux's influ- 
ence may be summed up in two words — 
simplicity and self-sacrifice. These 
principles extended right through the life 
of the order, even to its architecture and 
to its art. Already, at the time of the 
coming of St. Bernard, the Clunisians 
were beginning to lighten with sculpture 
the splendid severity of their Romanesque 
buildings, to deck their statues with 
precious stones, and with beautiful glass; 
to adorn with gilding and voluptuous 
colour the gray stones of aisle and nave. 




ST. JOHN. BURGUNDIAN SCHOOL 



t Quoted " Histoire de St. Bernard," Chevalier, vol. ii., p. 350. 



I20 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

St. Bernard, quick to see the danger, sent his masons back to the essential. 
Nave and choir were to be of low elevation, and without towers; within 
must be neither painting, nor sculpture, nor crucifix, nor colour, nor any 
other ornament. Even the tympanum of the porch, so richly carved in 
Clunisian churches, might show only a cross in bas-relief, sometimes sur- 
mounted by the Lamb of God. Any sculpture in the interior must be con- 
fined to simple flowers and foliage on the capitals, with perhaps a claw at the 
base of the pillars; the apse and chapels were to be square, not polygonal nor 
semi-circular, as in the work of the other school. Above all, the Cistercians 
banished from their churches the scenes from the Ancient and New Testa- 
ments, the symbolical figures and fantastic animals, of which the Clunisians 
were so fond. Their cloisters were low and heavy, and the windows of the 
monastic buildings were narrow, almost, as loopholes. 

In ceremonial observances they were equally simple, and contented them- 
selves with a monotonous psalmody, poor and thin compared with the melo- 
dious chants that rang down the aisles of Cluny. The manuscripts showed 
the same scorn of art. Cluny bound their parchments beautifully in gold 
and silver, and ornamented them with precious stones; Citeaux was content 
with a rough binding of pig-skin, decorated with nails, and fastened with 
copper bands. 

It was inevitable that such vital difference of opinion should find con- 
temporary expression in words, as well as deeds. Bernard protests vehe- 
mently against luxe. His correspondence on the subject with his friend, 
Pierre le V^n^rable, is full of interest. 

" I do not speak," he writes, " of the prodigious height of the churches, 
of their immeasurable length, of their unnecessary width, of their 
sumptuous ornaments, of their curious paintings, which draw the 
glances of those who are at prayer, and prevent them from pray- 
ing. As a monk, I address myself to monks, and I say to them : 
You who should be poor, what do you with this gold in the sanc- 
tuary? Other than this should be the conduct of the bishops, other than 
this that of the monks. The bishops, as we know, extend their solicitude to 
the foolish as well as to the wise. That they should seek to arouse by 
exterior ornament the devotion of a carnal people insensible to the ornaments 
of the soul, we can well understand; but we who have come forth from the 
bosom of this people, who, for the love of Christ, have left the world and 



MORE POPE THAN YOU lai 

all which is precious and apparent, we who regard as dung all that shines by 
beauty, all that flatters the ear by harmony, that pleases the senses of smell 
and touch, in a word, all that can give rise to sensual pleasure, whose devo- 
tion do we aspire to arouse by these ornaments ? 

"And to speak my thought openly, is it not avarice, that idolatry of 
slaves, which inspires us, and do we not seek rather the gifts of matter than 
the fruits of the spirit ? How so, will you reply ? I will tell you. Gold 
is lavished on every hand that it may multiply; it is spread abroad that it may 
be augmented. At the sight of these sumptuous vanities which excite 
astonishment, men feel themselves inflamed with the will to give, rather than 
with the will to pray. I do not know what this penchant may be, that bids 
us give more willingly to him that already has much. Eyes are dazzled 
by reliquaries covered with gold, and the sight of them opens every purse. 
The more the chasse shines in beauty, the more sacred are the relics held 
to be. We hasten to kiss them, and we feel ourselves drawn on into giving; 
we admire that which strikes the eye, rather than venerate holy things. In 
the churches are exposed, not crowns, but wheels encrusted with pearls, and 
the lamps which surround them cast a light less bright than the precious 
stones. For candalabra, we see rise a tier of enormous weight, fashioned 
with a marvellous art, which glitters less by the candles which surmount it, 
than by the diamonds with which it is adorned. 

" What seek ye in all that, I ask you; is it the compunction of penitence 
or the astonishment of the eye ? O Vanity of Vanities, O Folly ! In her 
buildings, the church is ashine, in her poor she is all impoverished. She 
clothes her stones with gold, she leaves her children naked. 'Tis at the 
expense of the poor that we seek to flatter the eye of the rich. The curious 
find wherewithal to charm them; the unfortunate seek in vain their daily 
bread. Do we not abuse our veneration of the images of the saints, until 
they are ready to rise from the paving-stones? Here one is spitting in an 
angel's mouth; there the passers-by tread upon the face of a saint. If you 
do not respect these holy images, why do you not respect at least their 
brilliant colouring? Of what use is it to decorate these figures if they are to 
be continually soiled with dust? Of what use are they to the poor, to the 
monks, to spiritual men ? 

"What is the meaning in the cloisters, before the brother occupied in 
reading, of those ridiculous monsters, those deformed beauties, those beautiful 



122 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

deformities? What do they there, those unclean apes, those fierce lions, 
those monstrous centaurs, those figures half man, half beast, those striped 
tigers, those fighting soldiers, those huntsmen who sound the horn? On 
one side, I see many heads on a single body; on the other, 
many bodies with a single head ; here a beast with a serpent's tail ; 
there a fish with an animal's head. Half a horse ends in half a goat; a 
horned animal bears a horse's croup. Everywhere appears a multitude of 
varied and uncouth forms. More pleasure is taken in reading on marble 
than in books; we choose rather to pass the whole day in looking upon these 
pictures than in meditating upon the Divine Law. Great God, though we 
blush not at such follies, let us blush, at least, at the sums they cost ! " + 

However worthy such ideals might be from the spiritual point of view — 
and no one, surely, can read Bernard's letter without feeling its power and 
sincerity — it is obvious that, like those of the later Puritanism, they bore 
within them the germs of their own destruction. No community of man, 
even in those glorious days of the early middle ages, could live, for long, up 
to that standard; and as the order established itself all over Europe, almost, 
the diffusion of its forces resulted necessarily in a swift falling away, and 
loss of prestige. That change, though, perhaps, a disaster for the Christian 
church, was the salvation of Western Europe; for, had the ideals of Citeaux 
finally prevailed over those of Cluny, the glorious Gothic arts of the next 
three centuries, upon which Cluny certainly exercised great influence — 
of which, indeed, she was the mother — would not have attained the same 
development. 



Among the distinguished visitors to Citeaux, were Louis le Gros, in 1 127; 
Pope Eugene III., who presided over the chapter general, in 1148; 
Louis VII., in 1166; and Louis IX. (St. Louis), who came here from 
Vezelay, in 1244. 

On that occasion, according to custom, the Duke of Burgundy, 
Hugues IV., preceded the royal cortege up to the limit of his lands. As 
they approached Citeaux, coming in sight of the church, all left their horses, 
and advanced on foot in the attitude of prayer. The prelates, the abbots 

+ Pignot's "Cluny," Tome iii., pp. 108 — 114. 



MORE POPE THAN YOU 123 

who were there, and the monks, to the number of five hundred, came forth 
in procession to welcome the monarch visiting them for the first time. 
Louis IX. and Queen Blanche did not lodge in the abbey, but in the Hotel 
du Due de Bourgogne, without the walls. They were specially authorized 
to eat meat during their stay, on condition that such permission would not 
be granted on a future occasion. § 

Upon the fair fame of the later history of the order there rests one 
indelible stain. Citeaux was largely responsible for that series of awful 
crimes and massacres known as the Albigensian crusade. Early in the 
thirteenth century, Innocent III., weary of vain attempts by spiritual force 
to crush out heresy from the church, decided to employ the not unwilling 
Cistercians to preach a new crusade. A great army of " Crusaders," under 
the command of Eudes III., Duke of Burgundy, crossed the Rhone ?tt 
Avignon, and passing through Montpellier, came to B^ziers, where they pro- 
ceeded to indulge in " the greatest massacre ever committed in all the 
world; for they spared neither young nor old, nor even infants at the breast." 
It seems a cruel irony that from Arnaud, Abbot of Citeaux, a successor of St. 
Robert and St. Bernard, should have come the answer to the question how 
thev were to deal with the heretics: " Kill them all; God will know His 

Own!" 

* * « * « « * 

But happier recollections than those were in my mind when last I rode 
to Citeaux from Dijon, on a dull and rainy morning of October, a fitting 
day on which to visit that savage and lonely site. There are people — 
cultured people, even, such as Emile Montegut- — who will tell you that, 
because the country here is flat, and the old monastery almost entirely 
destroyed, Citeaux is not worthy of a visit. I find it hard to understand how 
anyone possessing a spark of historic imagination, can thus deprive himself 
of the pleasure of seeing the abbey; though there were certainly less 
inducement to go there when the place was a penitentiary school, than now, 
when it is again in the occupation of the white monks. I hope that this 
account of my own pilgrimage there will induce others to follow my 
example. 

I rode to Citeaux by way of Rouvres, a lonely village on the plain south 

§ Petit. " Histoire des Dues Capetiens." 



124 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

of Dijon. It has, or had, a chateau — not now visible within its belt of- 
trees — that has some interesting historical associations, and there is a Roman- 
esque church accessible, I remember, by a somewhat unique bridge, consist- 
ing of gravestones, evidently taken from the churchyard, laid, with the 
inscriptions uppermost, across the stream where the ducks paddle. 

Passing through many a tangled and dilapidated Burgundian village, 1 
came at last, after miles of plodding across the plain, to a spot so savage of 
aspect, that it might well be a halting-place, even to-day, for an ascetic 
brotherhoood faring forth in search of a site for a new foundation. On 
the left of the lonely road was a stagnant marsh, bordered with clumps of 
yellow reeds and brown bullrushes. Before me, a great expanse of sullen 
water, fringed with a line of distant, black fir trees, reflected on its broken 
surface the drifing, gray clouds. A dismal lake it was, marged with red and 
green rushes, dappled with broad-leaved water plants, and spotted with 
splashing drops. No human note broke the silence; no sound but the harsh 
cry of wild fowl, the croaking of frogs, the monotonous swish of falling rain. 
At my feet were growing thistles and deadly night-shade; through the reeds 
I caught a glimpse of a pink sow snouting in the mud. A feeling of intense 
exaltation arose within me — the delight born of unity with Nature in her 
elemental mood. I knew now why the Cistercians loved these spots. 
There welled up in me the same sensation of burning pleasure that lightened 
the life of the ascetic of eight hundred years ago, when, leaning upon the 
handle of his spade, as he paused for a moment from his labour, he watched 
the wind furrowing the rippled water, and heard the holy spirits of the air 
singing to the bending rushes on the bank. 

I rode on, past the gateway of the Abbey grounds, to the village of Citeaux, 
where I lunched with an asceticism that, though not inappropriate to the 
occasion, was due, I must confess, rather to the limitations of the inn-keeper's 
resources, than to a voluntary compliance with the rule of St. Benedict. 
During the repast, Madame, standing before me, and punctuating her 
remarks with an occasional sweep of the back of her hand across her mouth, 
held forth upon the history of the Abbey. Learning from her that the 
buildings could be visited, I determined to see what was to be seen. 
Cycling boldly up to the gate of the monastery, and ignoring utterly a 
mighty hound, who nearly strangled himself in his efforts to rend me limb 
from limb, I looked about me. Near the gate was a white monk, walking 



MORE POPE THAN YOU 125 

slowly, with his eyes upon the ground. He bowed in response to my saluta- 
tion; but, when he raised his head, his hesitation, and the spasmodic move- 
ments of his lips before he spoke, betrayed the effect of the rule of silence. 
The words came with an effort. 

" Vous n'avez qu'a sonner a la porte." 

I rang the bell accordingly, when there emerged, from the lodge opposite 
to the gate, another little, square-headed, white-robed monk, who, smiling, 
and bowing low, with spread hands, welcomed me to the monastery. 

My guide was an intelligent, affectionate, resigned little Flamand, his 
natural cheerfulness of disposition tempered by the inevitable sadness of a 
vocation now generally despised, and quite apart from the swiftly-flowing 
current of modern life. Together we traversed the rooms and corridors or 
the modern buildings — until recently a penitentiary school — from which the 
members of the chapter, held annually in September, had departed only the 
day before my visit. On the walls of the assembly room were plans of the 
four daughter abbeys of Citeaux — La Ferte, Pontigny, Clairvaux, and 
Morimond; " Une mere bien f^conde," as my guide said — and the signed 
letter of Pope Leo XIIL, restoring Citeaux to the Cistercian order. The 
chapter table, round which ran the names of the abbeys represented, was 
still littered with pens and ink for use at the function. My monk pointed 
out the little ballot-box, filled with white beans, by means of which the voting 
was done. A majority of one carries the day, and the ballot is open, unless 
one member expresses a desire for it to be secret. The rule of St. Benedict, 
and the book of the constitutions, are kept on the table for reference, if 
necessary. 

We passed beneath the bust of St. Bernard, which is over the door, and 
descended to the foot of the stairs, where my companion put on again, over 
his sandalled feet, the sabots he had kicked off on entering. A moment 
later we were standing in the refectory, where, upon the table, were laid 
the spoons, the brown earthenware plates, the bowls and the napkins, all 
ready for the next meal. The abbot sits, as of old, at the head of his twenty- 
five monks, and in the middle is a table with three " couverts," where the 
same vegetarian repast is served to three souls in purgatory, the remains being 
given to the poor. Thence, I was taken to see the little cloister, the stair- 
case tower and library, probably of the fourteenth century, all that remains 
of the great Abbey. On the way we passed through the garden, where a 
J 



126 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



dozen or more black and white-robed brethren were busily digging the 
ground, still carrying on the tradition of St. Benedict, that in the sweat of 
their brow they should eat bread. That sight alone repaid well the trouble 
of coming to Citeaux in the rain. 

Meanwhile, my gentle guide talked resignedly of the ruin of the building, 
of the decay of the order. There was a note of deep sadness in his voice, 

as he said : — 

" Justice and truth are like the sun; they 
traverse the earth; they set." 

" They rise again on the other side," I 
added. A smile lit up the peaceful, flamand 
face. 

" Yes, they rise again on the other side." 
We were at the gate. 
" How I wish my wife had been here," I 
said, thoughtlessly. " She would so have 
enjoyed talking with you." 

The little monk smiled, twinkled almost. 
Here was an artless stranger, indeed ! 

" Monsieur," shaking his head, "We do 
not allow ladies to pass the gate." It was 
my turn to smile, and to apologise. My 
friend guide understood. He took my hand. 
" Probably," he murmured, " we meet no 
more in this world. Then, adieu." 

Again he bowed low, with spread hands. 
The iron gate of Citeaux clanged behind 
me ; I was out in the living world once 
more. As I rode to Nuits in the rain, between the dripping trees of the 
ancient forest, whose glades had echoed to the footfall of St. Bernard, I felt, 
more strongly than ever before, how close is the rapport existing between 
the ascetic mysticism of that time — symbolising the soul of things in saint 
and hermit — and the wider transcendentalism of to-day, that, taking, as Bacon 
took, the all for its medium, works, through art, through science, through 
poetry, through even subtler and more recondite communion of the human 
spirit with fellow spirits and with nature, towards the ultimate goal of truth. 





CHAPTER VIII 



The country, as one travels from Cluny to Paray-le Monial, is varied and 
interesting — so w^ere the other passengers. At Charolles, there entered our 
compartment tvi^o priests, one of whom devoted himself to his book, vi^hile the 
other, a very tall, spare ecclesiastic, divided his time evenly between his 
breviary, the sign of the cross, and a close scrutiny of my wife. Whether 
there was any connection in his mind between the last two occupations, I am 
unable to determine. 

This little incident was sufficient to remind us that Paray — as the adjunct 
Le Monial implies — is a town of ecclesiastical origin and tradition. It was, 
in fact, a daughter of Cluny, an annexe of the maison abbatiale, and a place 
of rest and of vill^giature for the abbots, who had their country seat here. 
To-day it is the centre of the cult of the Sacre Cceur, and a favourite place of 
pilgrimage for the French peasantry of the district. 

On arrival at the station, while I was engaged with the luggage, a straw- 
hatted individual, who had been lounging about in the company of a young 



128 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

woman, drew my wife's attention to the fact that there was no " plaque " on 
our bicycles. On being referred to me, he demanded my permit, which I 
naturally refused to exhibit, until he had proved his authority to ask for it. 
He then produced, from his pocket-book, a printed paper, which appeared to 
be the document required. I showed my permit accordingly; whereupon, 
with a satirical smile, and the remark, " Une simple formalite. Monsieur," 
the insuppressible strolled off. Insolent officialism is one of the " desagre- 
ments " of France, to which a few more years of democratic supremacy will 
probably expose this country also. A breach of that " simple formalite," as 
he called it, would inevitably have brought me to the sub-prefecture, and 
would have cost me thirty francs and costs, for each machine. Let cyclists 
in France see that they comply with all " simples formalites." 

Setting out in the morning to explore Paray, we had corroborative 
evidence of an impression already formed, concerning the manners — or want 
of them — of many Burgundians. Two or three groups of young girls, 
passing us in the streets, burst into shrieks of laughter under our very 
noses; and a band of school children, who intercepted and surrounded us at 
a corner shop, in a narrow lane, could not have shown deeper interest had 
we been two teddy bears, or a Punch and Judy show. They made the 
street absolutely impassable; we could not move until the shop-keeper 
emerged, and drove them away. 

Modesty compels me to add that my wife was always the chief cause of 
this hilarity and interest. These public attentions made her so uneasy that 
she asked me plaintively, on one occasion, whether she had grown a hump in 
the night! Though able to reassure her upon that point, I could not, nor 

can I at this moment, satisfactorily account 
for the undisguised astonishment her appear- 
ance caused; but I lean to the conclusion 
that the secret lay mainly in her clothes. 
My wife was dressed — quite simply — but she 
was dressed; whereas the women of Bur- 
gundy merely wore clothes; garments that 
bore no relation to each other, nor to the 
individuality of the wearer. The directors 
of the Grands Magazins du Louvre have much to answer for in 
these matters, and it was positively refreshing, in the remoter parts of the 




GLUNY'S DAUGHTER 129 

country, to see the village women, naturally dressed, walking like goddesses, 
freely, and in the shape in which Nature made them. 

But to return from flesh and blood to the stones of Paray. Her old 
monuments, though few, are choice. The best of them, excepting the 
church, is the Hotel de Ville, a building with an exquisite Renaissance 
facade, beautifully harmonized, showing Italian influence, and dfting from 
1525. The flatness of the elevation is relieved, and the whole uound to- 
gether vertically, by three half-round turrets, which spring from corbels 
below the sill strings of the first floor windows. Three moulded courses 
ornamented with heads and busts in medallion,* and panels in relief, extend 
right across the building, below the windows. Several of the heads, 
including that of Francis I., are still recognizable portraits. Between the 
windows, and beside the turrets, are decorative, sculptured pilasters. There 
are many figures in niches, and a profusion of scallop-shell ornament, all 
showing the transitional character of the work. The top story, with alterna- 
ting turrets, and gables surmounted by statuettes, is extremely effective. All 
the windows are beautifully proportioned, and finely, though not deeply, 
moulded. As a whole, weathered by time to a rich, warm brown, this is 
one of the most effective facades of its kind that I know in France. 

The interior, which might easily be restored, has been spoiled by white- 
washing the oak beams of ceilings that shelter many exhibits, of little interest, 
excepting some nice tiles from the old house. This was built by a rich 
cloth manufacturer, Pierre Jayet, from 1 525-1 528. According to Montd- 
gut, Pierre's brother was so jealous of the beauty of the building, that he 
determined to eclipse it; and accordingly erected the church of St. Nicholas, 
which, with the later tower of that name (1658), still stands opposite to the 
Hotel de Ville. If the date of the Church, as given to me, namely 1505, 
is correct, the legend must be without foundation; but, whether it be true 
or false, that lovely facade has nothing to fear from comparison with any 
other building in the town. 

Paray-le Monial's church is a splendid and typical example of the 
Clunisian school of Burgundian architecture, about contemporary with the 
Cathedral of Autun. In fact, you have only to create, in imagination, a 
longer nave, transeptal towers, a second transept, and flying buttresses, to 
form a very good idea of the appearance of Cluny abbey in the middle ages. 

•Hence the original name, "Maison des Pompons." 



I30 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

From the eastern end you get the typical Burgundian effect of a series of 
apsidal chapels and collaterals, lifting the eye, stage by stage, up to the 
central clock tower, and thus conveying an impression of dependent solidity 
unique in architecture, and quite symbolical of Burgundian character. 
The apsidal chapels are buttressed by engaged columns, and lightened by a 
string, ornamented with a billet, run right round, to form the drip-stones and 
the abaci of the capitals, some of which are very beautiful. 

Tis sad that Cluny's fair daughter is content to keep such ill company. 
The approach to, and view of, the church from the north, is almost com- 
pletely blocked out by hideous booths filled with tawdry trinkets, by a 
"Diorama Musee," and other mean erections, which should be ruthlessly 
swept away by the authorities. Visitors may be annoyed, too, as we were, 
by the attentions of an imbecile woman, employed by the hangers-on 
of the church, to fetch water and run errands for them. She looked over 
my shoulder diligently while I took notes, and only replied with a wild stare, 
and a "Rien, rien," to my request to know what I could do for her. A few 
yards further on, we came upon the following : — 

Apparition of the Sacred Heart to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacocque. 

The Nusstree and Garden of the Visitation 

Figures in natural size, 

Entrance Centimes. * 

On reading this effusion, our first impression was, that there must be some 
mental affinity between the dreadful woman who had just been jibbering i.t 
us, and the promoters of this novel entertainment; until we realized that the 
wax-works were merely another catch-penny, aimed at pilgrims' pockets — 
the invitation I had just read being no more than a weak attempt to rope in 
an occasional English enthusiast. The discovery, not far off, of a similar 
legend, written in bad German, revealed the origin of the "Nusstree." It 
is curious h»w seldom French attempts to break out publicly into the English 
tongue, meet with any degree of success. From the "High Life Tailor " 
of Parisian boulevards, to the "Nuss-tree" of Paray-le Monial, it is always 

*The Reference is to the alleged apparition of Christ, revealing His Bleeding 
Heart, to a young girl, Marguerite Marie Alacocque, in 1690, beneath a 
nut-tree, the site of which is now marked by the Chapelle de la Visitation. 
It was this vision which established in Paray the " Culte du Sacre Coeur," 
now common throughout France. 



GLUNY'S DAUGHTER 131 

the same story; one English word is as good as another to a Frenchman who 
understands neither. 

The north door of the church, flanked though it be by disreputable build- 
ings, is a graceful construction, of somewhat unusual classical design, 
well harmonized and proportioned, and exquisitely carved. All the sculp- 
ture, from the flowered architrave within the pilasters, to the ornamentation 
of the shafts and the shouldered arches, is very pleasing, as are the doors 
themselves, with their quatre-foiled iron ornament, surrounding an inner 
cross. 

The primitive porch, and the western towers of the church are somewhat 
remarkable. Murray, on what authority I cannot say, puts their date at 
1004, but Viollet-le-Duc contents himself with admitting this portion to be 
earlier than the remainder of the Church. The northern tower is the later 
of the two. The porch is arched, and of two bays, forming six quadripartite 
vaults between the arches. The weight of the towers above was originally 
taken by two central clusters of stone columns, which proved quite inade- 
quate for the purpose, and were replaced — in the 19th century, I think — by 
a granite column.* The western precincts of the Church exhibit the usual 
signs of decadence of ecclesiastical power and influence. Dead leaves litter- 
ing the porch, mercifully screen the " choses immondes " and the building 
materials with which the floor is scattered; and as though the building were 
not yet sufficiently defiled, a board invites the public to deposit its rubbish 
between the porch and the river, on a site at present in the occupation of 
noisy children. 

Seen from within, the church is noble and impressive; but the eye at 
once notices a want of proportion; the height of the first storey being too 
great for that of the triforium and clerestories. This is due, in part, to the 
shortness of the nave, which might be three times as long, and, in part, to 
the flatness of the triforium, a true blind-story, rendered mean for lack of 
shadow to break up the flatness of the arcades. The supports for the 

vaulting take the form of fluted pilasters, which rise to the capitals, on a 
level with the sill string, below the triforium; whence the thrust is taken 
by half round vaulting shafts. Here, as elsewhere in Burgundy and 
Southern France, the pointed arch is obviously used as a necessity of con- 

*Viollet le Due. '' Dictionnaire Raisonn^ " Tome vii. p. 283. 



GLUNY'S DAUGHTER 133 

struction, rather than for any inherent love the builders bore it. Before the 
art of buttressing had developed, no other method was open to themf 

Grateful memories still linger of that vista — down the wide-aisled 
nave to the well-proportioned columns of the apse, bathed in rich 
colours from the stained glass, which, modern though it be, is 
worthy, when compared with our recollections of Notre Dame de Cluny. 
The interior has not many decorative features, except the fluted pilasters, and 
the archivolts, somewhat in the Lombard style, in which the lozenge and the 
billet ornament are effectively used. Very local, on the contrary, and very 
characteristic are the Byzantine beasts carved among the foliage on the 
capitals of the ambulatory. 

'Tis a pity that the crossings are so prominent; their nudity enhances the 
ill-effect of the debauch of whitewash that renders the interior so cold. One 
of the few good monuments is a fifteenth-century, south-eastern, transeptal 
chapel, with the remains of the gothic canopied tomb of the Seigneurs of 
Digoin. The windows, doors and niches of the chapel are satisfactory, but 
the ribbed vaulting is clumsy, and much too heavy for so small a roof. I 
believe that the figures are all modern. 

As we left by the north transept, we noticed a lady standing before the 
statue of St. Peter. Rising upon her toes until her bonnet feathers nodded, 
she was just able, with an effort, to kiss the toe of the Saint. I examined 
that toe; it was bright with the salutes of the faithful. 

Nowhere do I remember to have seen so many appeals and warnings 
against blasphemy and desecration as are displayed in the church of Paray. 
No doubt they are needful and salutary; but it struck us, that, before enforc- 
ing too severely their observance, the ecclesiastical authorities would do well 
to set their own house in order, and, once for all, to sweep the precincts of 
their basilica clear of all rubbish, human and inanimate, that now defiles it. 
I wonder, sometimes, whether those who are responsible for the condition of 
affairs at Paray, and other great French churches, have ever seen the close of 
Salisbury, or of Wells, or can ever have realized how enhancing to the 
dignity and grandeur of mediaeval architecture, and how seemly, as settings to 
a sacred building, are the delicious haunts of peace, upon whose trim, green 
lawns and ancestral elms, those ancient cathedrals look down. That, having 

tBond's " Gothic Architecture in England," p. 265. 



134 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

done so, they can be content to let the towers of Paray rise from among 
tawdry booths and a howling wilderness of filth and debris, is something I 
do not care to believe. That is why, having visited in hope Cluny's lovely 
daughter, we left her with little other feeling than one of sadness that such 

things should be, 

******** 

The country around Paray is not particularly interesting; but some fine 
views of the Church are to be had from the other side of the Bourbince. 
Having set forth on bicycles to explore the land, we halted on a little bridge 
that crosses the Canal du Centre, The water-way was lined, on our side, 
for about a hundred yards, with small tumble-down cottages and sheds. The 
other bank was alive with washer-women all thumping mercilessly at soapy 
garments. As we appeared, the thumping ceased. Every scrubbing-brush 
was put down, or remained poised in mid-air, and all eyes turned towards 
the two figures, who, even at that distance, bore the stamp of aliens. 

We approached a cottage labelled "Cafe," Before it was a perambulator 
containing a howling baby, whom a very serious little maid of about four- 
teen was trying unsuccessfully to hush. We sat down on a rickety bench, 
and ordered things. The little maid was so shy that her lips refused to part; 
but her ears were open; she fetched and carried willingly, though dumbly. 
We sat sipping, and contemplating nature. The washers returned to their 
thumping; the baby howled. 

Presently a lanky mule, into whom the spirit of devilment had entered, 
broke from a neighbouring shed, and made for the bridge. The girl left her 
charge, and endeavoured to "shoo" the beast to his stall again. He would 
neither be coerced nor cajoled, but, with a wicked gleam in his eye, turned 
his back upon her blandishments, and, to the great peril of the baby, lashed 
out fiercely with both heels. The girl rushed to the perambulator. Con- 
scious of victory, the ass lay down upon the towing path, and rolled and 
kicked, until the washers across the water were screened from us by clouds 
of dust. Then, in due season, he arose and walked quietly back to his 
stable. As my wife observed : "He is a very young mule; and there is no 
fun in being naughty, if nobody minds." 

A moment later, we saw coming towards us with swinging strides over 
the bridge, a tall, swarthy, handsome figure, dressed as a stage bandit, in 
copper-coloured leather coat, of the same tint as his face, a dark slouch hat, 



CLUNY'S DAUGHTER 135 

and black leather gaiters. From each capacious side pocket projected the 
neck of a large, white-glass, wine bottle. He called for a drink, and sat 
down near us on a bench before the caf^; then, removing one of the bottles 
from his coat, he revealed two snakes wriggling within it. Holding the 
bottle by the neck, he shook it before the eyes of the howling baby, who 
promptly fell into such strong convulsions that my wife feared for its life. 

"What are those ? " I asked, pointing to the bottle. 

"Vipers," said the bandit, " 'Tis my trade." Diving into the coat again, 
he produced a metal armlet inscribed "Charmeur de Viperes." Thence 
followed, one by one, all his certificates of efficiency, signed by the mayors 
of places in the neighbourhood — Digoin, Macon, and Paray. Here were 
forty-six killed in one day; thirty-five more in the woods of Charolles; "Et 
il y en a encore." He did not stay long enough for us to question him 
concerning his methods of procedure; but, rising abruptly from the wooden 
bench, strode off, a great, bronzed figure, and was soon lost among the 
coppery tints of the Burgundian forest. 

I have often wondered since, whether he worked solely by close observa- 
tion, or whether he had developed that supernormal or subnormal faculty, 
withheld from most, but granted often to undeveloped minds, as it was to the 
boy in Rollinat's song : — 

When Autumn has tinted the boughs and the brakes, 

With fixed eyes, sadly and sweetly asway. 
The wandering idiot who charms the snakes, 

Wearying never, hobbles all day. 

The vipers asleep on the marge of their lakes, 

In chorus awaken at sound of his song; 
And, shrilling thin hisses, they follow along — 

A crowd of old gossips — each path that takes 
The wandering idiot who charms the snakes.* 

We saw the mysterious snake-charmer once more in Paray. He raised 
the wide, slouch hat, and saluted with all the dignity of a forest king. 

* " Songs of old France," Percy Allen. 




CHAPTER IX 

To the outward eye Chalon sur Saone is no more than a thriving, 
modern, commercial town, containing little of interest to the antiquarian; 
though the stir of life on the busy wharves may prove enticing to those who 
weary, sometimes, of the sleepiness of country towns, and the faded glories 
of mediaeval cities. Yet, for our part, especially when we are in France, we 
prefer the shadows of the past to the realities of the present; and, no sooner 
were we in Chalon, than we set ourselves to picturing the town as it had 
been, when the river was the scene of royal pageants, when three golden 
bands girdled the city walls, and great tournaments were held on the island 
where bold knights laid lance in rest round the banner of La Dame des 
Pleurs. 

One of the last of the river • pageants was in 137 1, when the Duke of 
Anjou gave rendez-vous to Philippe le Hardi, his brother, at the papal city of 
Avignon. The Duke embarked at Chalon with a great suite. In the first 
vessel was Philip and his principal barons; then came the Chancellor's boat, 
with other nobles; then the barges of the kitchen, the wardrobe, the wine- 
cellar, and the fish store. The Duke appeared with great ^clat at Avignon, 
and offered the pope a courser, a hackney, two flagons, and two basins of 
silver-gilt. He also dealt so generously with the cardinals, that, to enable 



HER THREE CROWNS 137 

him to return, he was obliged to pawn his jewels with a Lombard, as security 
for a loan of twenty thousand francs.* 

But I want now to go back to earlier days, even, than those — to the year 
589, when Gontran was king of Burgundy, and had his court at Chalon — 
whenever his wars with Childebert and Chilperic allowed him to hold court 
anywhere. Gontran, it was, who, twelve years before, in 577, had founded 
two miles away eastward, in the plain, a great abbey in honour of St, Marcel, 
the apostle of the Chalonnais, martyred upon that very spot. Gontran too, 
it was, who rebuilt the walls of Chalon, broken down by the Huns, and 
ornamented them, for a belt, with three bands of golden stone; so that, in 
after years, the early historians and the poets, singing of the city by the 
Saone, hailed it as Orbandale, the town "aux bandelettes d'or." That is 
why, to-day, the arms of Chalon are three golden circles, two and one, on 
a field of azure. 

I am going to tell here, briefly, the story of Bertille, the heroine of the 
golden bands — surnamed, not too happily. La Judith Chalonnaise.f 

In the year 589, there dwelt in the royal city of Chalon, a worthy man, 
Vulfrand by name, and his wife, Ludwige. They had a daughter, Bertille, 
supple, graceful, dignified, and so lovely and virtuous, that she was the pride, 
not of her parents only, but of all the town, famous though it then was for 
producing beautiful women. Bertille was nearly seventeen years old, and 
she had been brought up in the Christian faith, at a time when that religion, 
then still young, needed every proselyte it could win. And she was her 
parents' only child. 

One summer evening, after Bertille had read aloud the vesper prayer, her 
father, having made the sign of the cross upon his brow, rose, and went to 
the door of the apartment, which opened upon the street. Standing upon 
the threshold, he was enjoying the freshness of the twilight air, when 
suddenly he was aware of a commotion in the neighbouring street — the stir 
of a great crowd, men's voices, and the clatter of horses' hoofs. 

"Bertille!" he called, "Come, come quickly, or you will be too late!" 
And, indeed, already there drew near a great cortege, ecclesiastics for the 
most part, proceeding in some dis-array, and hastening, because of the late 
hour, and the distance they had yet to go. 

King Gontran had convoked a council in the church of St. Marcel — the 

* De Barante. Tome I. 
t Frangois Fertiault's "Bertille" Feuilleton de Paris, 1848. 



138 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

town then named Hobiliacus — and thither this cortege of bishops and priests 
was bent, eager to arrive before nightfall, that they might begin their con- 
ference early the next morning. 

Bertille came to the door just as the last members of the cortege were 
passing. Among them was a rider whose costume showed plainly that ne 
was no ecclesiastic. From the scutcheon embroidered upon the front of his 
garment, he appeared to be a noble — lord, perhaps, of some neighbouring 
kingdom. His steed was rearing; and he, not averse from showing to the 
crowd his strength and skill in horsemanship, let it plunge at its will. Then 
he reined it in, and was looking proudly around him at the moment when 
Bertille ran to the door. His eyes rested upon her, in a fixed gaze. Bertille 
felt the stare; and shuddered before it. 

"Father, that horseman is not following the cortege," said the girl, blush- 
ing and hiding her head behind Vulfrand's shoulder. "Let us go in," she 
added, "I have seen enough." 

"What is the matter, ma belle, are you feeling ill ?" 
"No, but that lord's stare has tired me." 

"And reddened you, too, little angel of Paradise! But in with you! 
though there's small harm in being seen; even when one is as pretty as you." 
He kissed her forehead, smiling, and together they went in. They told the 
mother what had chanced. "His eyes," said Bertille, "were upon me like 
a serpent's upon a bird." 

Night fell, and with it came the hour of sleep. 

"Allons!" said Vulfrand, "Good night, my Bertille; sleep well, and above 
all, forget the eye of that serpent." 

"If only you were there, to put your foot on his head," said she, smiling, 
to her father. 

"Oh! you are no big girl, are you? — no more than the little bird was a 
big bird. Go to bed; sleep, dream of him, and crush him under your own 
heel." Half an hour later, Bertille was asleep. 

Meanwhile, the young horseman in question, Amalon by name, a Duke 
in rank, from the country of Champagne, charged with the conduct of 
negotiations at the court of Burgundy, was following the cortege of ecclesi- 
astics, with whom he must attend to-morrow's council at St. Marcel. But, 
ever, as he rode, the beautiful face of Bertille shining before his eyes, awoke 
evil thoughts within him. He soon decided that so fair a maid was better 



HER THREE CROWNS 139 

worth his attention, than a discussion with the bishops concerning the goods 
of the church. So, after waiting until the boats had carried the learned 
company across the Sa6ne, he returned to his own apartment, preoccupied, 
and with his heart beating rather faster than was its wont. 

"Surely the girl is very fair," he said to himself, "and well worth a little 
trouble. These are quiet days in my town of Troyes; and who knows but 
the name of Duchess may tickle her ears." Then he, too, slept. 

The next day, the Duke Amalon, faring forth earlier than was his custom, 
chanced to meet Bertiile in the street, as she was going forth to do 
marketing for the household. Making her a low obeisance, he accosted the 
maid, told her who he was, and how her charms had brought him, at one 
glance, to her feet. But, to his great surprise, he found that neither the 
magic title of Duke, nor of Duchess, even, wrought favourably with the 
girl. On the contrary, her dark eyes showed only fear and resentment, 
until, taking advantage of the protection afforded by passers-by, she turned 
swiftly and fled from him, homeward. 

"Fly away, shy dove," hissed the young lord between his teeth. "None 
the less there shall be good bird-nesting to-morrow." 

A week later, Duke Amalon sat at the board. He was sick at heart, his 
proud face aflame with wine and anger. Messengers were announced, and 
there entered to him the five servants he had left behind at Chalon. 

"You have been longer than long enough," he growled at them, "Ere 
now I would have caught her six times over." 

"She did not quit the house until this morning. Prince, and 'tis a day's 
journey twixt there and here." 

"Tis well enough, for this time," said he, relenting somewhat. "Bring 
in the shy dove." And he threw them a purse of gold. As they withdrew, 
Amalon retired into a far corner of the apartment. The valets led into the 
room Bertiile, pale as the morn, and trembling, her hand upon her breast. 

"Where am I?" she cried. "Mother of God, whither hast thou let them 
bring me?" And her beautiful, terrified eyes searched the room. They 
lighted upon the dark face of the Duke. 

"Ah!" she cried, and uttering a piercing scream, fell upon her knees. 

"Well, shy bird; are you still so little fain to become the lady of fair 
Champagne.?" And he drew near to her. The girl raised her eyes. "Do 
not come near to me," she whispered, and turned away her head. 



I40 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

"Come, come, listen to reason, little one. A duchy for your beaux yeux; 
sooth! tis not too much; yet, for all that, be not too exacting." He laid 
his fingers under the chin of the kneeling girl. Shuddering, Bertille sprang 
to her feet; his touch had aroused anger, and, with anger, courage. She 
turned from him, the red lips blanching, so firmly were they set. 

"Nay, do not fly my sight, wild dove." 

"The dove flies the serpent's gaze," she replied. Amalon made a step 
nearer. She heard the foot-fall, and could not restrain a little cry, that was 
half appeal, half prayer. As she prayed, her eye caught the glint of some- 
thing shining upon the wall opposite. That cry irritated the lord. His 
sensual face grew darker. 

"Cry on," he scoffed; "Walls hear naught; and my men without hear only 
my voice." With a sob, she flung herself on her knees before him. 

"Pity ! lord duke, pity ! for my parents' sake. Soil not your honour, nor 
mine; yield a frail girl to her mother again. Already she has wept long for 
me." Then, as she humbled her beauty before him, and her long, black hair, 
dishevelled, swept his very feet, strong passion burnt out all pity from 
Amalon's heart. He bent low, and took her in his arms. With a wild cry, 
the girl broke from his grasp, and rushed to the thing shining on the wall. 
Cursing, the duke followed her. As he reached her, she turned. 

"Serpent, feel how the dove can peck!" Torchlight flashed bright upon 
the uplifted blade. There came the sound of a blow, an awful cry, and 
Duke Amalon, his skull cloven, lay prostrate at the feet of the maid. 

With a crash, the doors flew open; five poniards were raised over Bertille's 
head. The Duke saw them, before darkness swam into his dying eyes. 

"Slay her not," he whispered, "Slay her not, but let her go. This is 
God's hand; so should virtue strike." He shuddered in every limb; then lay 
still in death. 

The great council at St. Marcel was nearing its end. Already King 
Gontran had withdrawn to his private apartments, and the fathers were 
deeply occupied with the last session of the conference. The voice of the 
speaker was filling the vast nave, and all were rapt in the closest attention, 
when suddenly the door of the church was seen to open swiftly, and a figure, 
heedless of the guardian's stern warning, entered the church, and ran down 
the nave towards the choir. At the barrier behind which the conference was 



HER THREE CROWNS 141 

assembled, the new-comer knelt; and the astonished prelates saw before them 
a young girl, weary and travel-stained, whose disordered dress and dishevelled 
hair could not conceal her natural beauty. 

Crossing her hands upon her breast, she looked upwards. 

"Mother of Christ! it was to keep me still worthy of thee!" 

The priest, who had been addressing the conference, stood silent. Every 
eye was fastened upon the maid. The ecclesiastics gathered round her, 
putting questions. 

"My fathers, I have but one boon to ask of you. Deign to take me to 
the king. It is with him that I would speak." So the fathers brought her 
to the king's presence, within the monastery. The Prince received her 
kindly; but Bertille hesitated, her beautiful eyes downcast. 

" Speak," said Gontran, smiling ; "A maid as fair as you are has little to 
fear." 

"Prince," replied the young girl, "I know not how it may have pleased 
God to fashion me; but if it be, indeed, beauty that He has given me — then 
is beauty a fatal gift ? " 

"How so?" said the King, with rising interest. The girl stood silent. 
She reddened, and bent her head still lower. Her breast heaved, and the 
tears flowed down. 

"Prince," she said in broken tones, "I am . . guilty . . and I 
come to yield myself into your hands." All eyes looked at her in astonish- 
ment. 

"Guilty, my child, you ! " said Gontran, not less amazed than the others. 
"That is not easily believed." 

"Yet it is true, Prince; and the proof is, that for three days I have seen 
neither father nor mother." 

"And where are your parents?" 

"At Ch^lon." 

"And why have you not seen them for so long?" 

"I dared not return to them. Look, Prince, look!" She loosened a fold 
of her dress; and there, plain for all to see, was a large, red, stain. 

"Blood!" cried Gontran. 

"Blood, my King!" Then the girl told all her tale. As they heard it, 
indignation, writ at first upon every face, gave way to nods and smiles, and 
murmurs of applause scarce restrained, when the end came. 

K 



142 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

"No criminal here, holy fathers, methinks; but rather a heroine!" said 
Gontran. Then, turning to the maid, he added : 

"You hold yourself guilty; but, meseems you have been guided rather by 
the Hand of God. Was the widow of Bethulie guilty when she delivered 
her people? Yet, in my thought, your maiden modesty and fear rank you 
above even that noble Judith. Be comforted then; to-morrow you shall see 
your parents again. Now, go to rest; and God have you in His care this 
night." So they made ready a chamber for Bertille; and there she slept, and 

that right soundly. 

******** 

On the next day, Gontran sent secretly to Chalon certain servants, with 
commands to bring the parents of Bertille to his presence. The good people 
were much terrified, and refused, at first, to follow the king's men, saying 
that the loss of their daughter had stricken them so deep in sorrow, that they 
would go no whither for no man — even though he be their own beloved 
king, Gontran. But at length they let themselves be persuaded, and went 
— not without fearful questioning as to what their lord the king might want 
with such simple folk as they. 

So they came before the king at the monastery of St. Marcel, and Gontran 
told them that he wotted well their story, and asked them whether they were 
indeed fain to see their child again. 

"Ah ! Prince," moaned the naive old Vulfrand, "If the dear God had but 
one angel in all heaven — and he lost her — dost think he would not be fain 
for her face again?" And Ludwige wailed an echo to that plaint. Then 
the king spoke much with them both, and knew that, in sooth, these two 
loved their daughter well. 

Meanwhile, one after one, the priests and bishops were filling the chamber; 
but Vulfrand and Ludwige, with eyes only for the king, knew nought of this, 
until Gontran made a movement causing them to look round. Then, when 
they saw themselves in the midst of this royal assembly, they feared greatly, 
and Ludwige clung to her husband. But, with a smile and a gracious nod, 
the king reassured them, and bade them be seated upon two stools, not far 
from his own person. So they sat amazed, and knew not yet whether good 
was to befall them, or evil. 

Gontran made a sign, and a great silence fell upon all. Then there 
entered a young page, bearing, upon a cushion of azure velvet, three small, 



HER THREE CROWNS 143 

golden crowns, the which he laid at the king's feet. Then that sainted and 
holy bishop, Gregory of Tours, rose from his chair in the great hall, and 
approached the throne. The page lifted, and put into his hands, the cushion 
and the three crowns. Holding them forth, Gregory turned to that august 
assembly. 

"These three crowns," said he, "are each the reward of a merit — merits 
widely differing, yet such as Heaven is pleased to unite, sometimes, in a 
single being. Yestereve were you and I permitted to see and to hear her 
whom God has so privileged; and you shall now judge whether she is worthy 
of these rewards, or rather, whether these rewards are worthy of her." 

"The first of these crowns is the crown of beauty — you have seen her, 
lords. The second is the crown of virtue — and how great hers is, you know 
well. The third is the crown of courage — you have heard her, and you have 
acclaimed her, even as have I." A murmur of assent rolled through the 
assembly. 

Meanwhile the young maid had been brought into the hall. She was 
dressed in fair, white raiment, and veiled, even to her feet. She drew near 
to the throne; and her tread was light as the foot- fall of an angel. Ludwige 
and Vulfrand could not take their eyes from off her. Their hearts beat 
within them as never before; yet they scarce knew why; though, indeed, 
they sat beside a king. 

"Come hither, noble child," said Gregory of Tours. And he took the 
golden crowns in his hands, and laid upon the royal dais the azure cushion, 
and bade the maid kneel thereon. Then he gave the three golden crowns in 
to the hands of the king, and yielding place to him, stood respectfully by his 
side. The king spoke. 

" Noble child. Heaven has granted you beauty, and beauty deserves a 
crown. Here is the crown of beauty." And he laid upon her brow the 
first golden circlet. Then he spoke again. 

"Noble child, thine is the purest virtue; virtue deserves a crown. Here 
is the crown of virtue." And he placed upon her head the second golden 
circlet. A third time the king spoke. 

" Noble child, you have given proof of strong courage; and courage 
deserves a crown. Here is the crown of courage." And he laid upon her 
head the third golden round. Vulfrand and Ludwige gazed breathlessly. 

" Now, brave maiden," added the king, " raise your veil." The girl 
obeyed. 



144 BURGUNDY . THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

"My daughter! . . . Bertille!" . . . " My Mother!" The 
two women wept in each other's arms. Vulfrand drew near to the king. 

" There was that within, Sire, told me you knew somewhat of my 
daughter." Gontran smiled. 

" Good people," said he to the happy parents, " Bertille will go back with 
you to Chalon, and there, if I know aught of maids' minds, she will tell 
you all. Be happy, then; for God has given you a daughter after His Own 
Heart." Then, turning to the assembly, he spoke thus : 

" Lords, since the fatal passage of the Huns across our land, our walls 
have lain in ruin. We must needs raise them again. In so doing, let us 
preserve the memory of Bertille's triumph. Three bands of gilded stone 
shall be built within the wall, to serve it for a girdle; and to remind all 
descendants to whom our fair city may pass, of the honour due to beauty, to 
courage, and to virtue." 

Loud rang the applause from all the townspeople, when, that very 
evening, Bertille and her parents returned to their home. The family cf 
dead Amalon were forbidden by Gontran, on pain of extinction, to molest 
further either parents or daughter, and soon, around the new walls of the 
royal city of Chalon, ran a triple girdle of gold — the three crowns we see 
to-day upon the arms of the town. 






BEIAKDam^ 



CHAPTER X 



The first thing we did on arriving at Chalon was to mount our bicycles 
and cross the river to the Church of St, Marcel, all that now remains of the 
ancient abbey. The feature of the journey was the number of rough 
Bressane carts we met, filled with potatoes, and drawn, very deliberately, by 
yoked, dreamy, creamy oxen, whose mild eyes were veiled by fringes of 
string, tied across the forehead, to keep off the flies. 

The Abbey church is a well-proportioned and satisfactory early 
Burgundian building, with a high narthex, a western tower, and a late 
Renaissance west front. It is designed rather in the Cistercian manner, with 
a square apse and two apsidal chapels, square and semi-circular respectively. 
The whole forms a fine example of early purity of style. Excepting the 
simple foliage of the capitals and the bosses of the high vault, one looks in 
vain for any carving, and there is very little moulding that catches the eye. 
The orders of the arches are left square-edged, and the ridges of the aisle 
vaulting scarcely show. The piers of the nave, too, are square, with circular 
shafts to carry the vault. 

Over the High Altar are two chasses with the relics of St. Agricola and 



146 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

St. Marcel. A notice in the church informs one that, in the year 879, 
John VIII. canonized in this church the holy bishops of Chalon; also that, 
on Holy Saturday, April 13th, 1805, Pope Pius VII. came to visit the relics 
of Saint Marcel and Saint Agricola, and blessed the High Altar. 

But the most interesting memory associated with the Abbey is that of the 
first of the modernists, Abelard, whose name is linked for ever with that of 
his lover, Heloise. Only the peaceful, closing years of Abelard's stormy 
life connect him with Burgundy; but his stay at Cluny, under the care of 
Pierre le Venerable, and his last days and burial at St. Marcel, justify me, I 
hope, in telling again here the life stories of two whose names, with those of 
Aucassin and Nicolette, Petrarch and Laura, Dante and Beatrice, Paolo and 
Francesca, are blazoned, for all time, upon the scrolls of love. 

It was in the year 1105, or 1106, that a young Breton, about sixteen years 
of age, of good family, came to Paris to study at the schools of the Quartier 
Latin, on the Montagne St. Genevieve, now occupied by the buildings of 
the Sorbonne. His father, the Seigneur de Pallet, near Nantes, had destined 
his son for the profession of arms; but a natural bent towards books and 
learning, and the consequent ambition to become formidable in " logic," 
induced the lad to abandon prospects of fortune and military glory, to play 
a prominent and extraordinarily romantic part in the religious and philosophi- 
cal movements of the greatest century of the middle ages. 

The schools of philosophy of Paris were already the most famous in the 
world, when Abelard put himself, as he expresses it in a letter to Philintus, 
" under the direction of one Champeaux, a professor who had acquired the 
character of the most skilful philosopher of his age, but by negative excel- 
lencies only, as being the least ignorant." The boy was well received at 
first, but his abilities in debate and dialectics soon aroused the natural 
jealousy of a master, who perceived himself to be no match for his pupil. 
Abelard withdrew to Melun for safety, and for the better establishment of 
his fast-developing theories concerning the necessary compatibility of dogma 
and reason, summed up in the phrase "Nul ne peut croire sans avoir 
compris," an axiom fraught with danger in the middle ages, and in those 
which succeeded them. 

After some years of retirement, the young dialectician attended the schools 
of Anselm, Bishop of Laon, where, finding himself thoroughly dissatisfied 
with the teaching of one of whom he could only say, "Stet magni nominus 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 147 

umbra," he decided to take for his guides the primitive fathers, and to launch 
boldly, for himself, into the study of the Holy Scriptures. 

When he deemed the time ripe, he returned to Paris, where his success 
drew many to him; so many that, before long, the fame of the young Breton, 
now Maitre Pierre, author of the " Gloze d'Ezechiel," the great teacher of 
the new doctrine of Conceptualism, was finding an echo in all Paris. He 
became the centre of a school of young enthusiasts, who hung upon his 
words. These early years of success in Paris were, intellectually, the most 
fruitful of his life, but they had a disastrous effect upon a character, the 
Strength of which was never equal to that of his mind. His pride and vanity, 
naturally great, became consuming. Freedom of thought was not sufficient 
for him; so great a liberationist must live a free life; the scholars must share 
him with the courtesans. 

Meanwhile, in a little house in the western end of the Isle de la Cite, at 
the foot of Notre Dame, that already was beginning to lift its mighty bulk 
above the palace of the king, and the surrounding churches and cloisters, 
were living Canon Fulbert and his young niece, fifteen years old, who had 
just completed her education at the convent of Argenteuil. HeloTse was a 
girl of unusual ability. That her talents are no mere legend, is abundantly 
proved by her letters, that rank her among the great women of literature. 
And she had yet more dangerous gifts — character, charm, beauty. This 
white lily, blossoming among the cloisters, was the one flower that could 
draw from Abelard the soul no courtesan had been able to reach. She was 
fair, sweet, impressionable; looking out upon a lovely world, and waiting 
only for love to lighten it. He was famous, young, tall, handsome, and 
well-dressed, beyond the wont of scholars. + No more was needed. Their 
destiny was upon them. They met; and looked long into each other's eyes. 

Within a short time, Abelard was installed in the Canon's house; com- 
missioned to instruct Heloise in philosophy. " It is my wish that she should 
obey you in everything," said the guileless uncle, in confiding his niece to 
her tutor. Employ every means, even manual chastisement, if you judge it 
necessary, to stimulate her zeal and constrain her to further submission." * 

J And he knew it. " I enjoyed at that time so great a renown, and I so outshone 
all with the glamour of youth and beauty, that I needed to fear no refusal, 
whoever might be the woman to whom I chanced to address myself." 
* " La Passion d'Heloise et d' Abelard," Bertheroy, p. 45. 



148 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

Fulbert was to discover, only too soon, how little need there was for such an 
injunction. 

So the professor of thirty-eight and the maiden of seventeen sat side by 
side over their book of philosophy, until, at length, their eyes rose from the 
page to one another, " And that day they read no farther." f Day by day 
their mutual sympathy increased, though the, as yet, innocent liaison still mas- 
queraded in the guise of a platonic friendship, while, all the time, says 
Ab^lard, " There came more words of love than philosophy into our con- 
versations, and more kisses than explanations." 

Meanwhile, Abelard the lover was at war with Ab^lard the philosopher. 
Gradually, to their astonishment and dismay, it dawned upon his students 
in the Sainte Montagne, that the metaphysical speculations of their Master 
had lost something of the accustomed brilliance; that the well of his elo- 
quence was drying up. Then came a greater shock. Maitre Pierre, their 
own Maitre Pierre, was writing love songs, like any ballad-monger; and all 
Paris was singing them. 

They were very beautiful love songs, sincere love songs; for Abelard and 
Hdloise were in love. Few knew it, least of all Fulbert, who, dreaming the 
days away in his stall in the choir of Notre Dame, appears to have had no 
suspicions concerning the bona-fides of the philosopher in his house. But, 
one day, coming home unexpectedly, he surprised the lovers in a close em- 
brace. His fury was intense. All his love for Abelard changing to hate, 
he drove him from the house. He might well have done more than that, 
had he known all; had he known that H61o'ise was to become a mother. 

Abelard, in this crisis, appears to have acted with a certain degree of 
courage. He entrusted his mistress to the care of his sister, Denise, at the 
Bourg du Pallet, in Brittany, where she went in a nun's dress, to avert 
suspicion as to her real condition. He endeavoured, too, to obtain the for- 
giveness of her father; and even promised to marry his daughter, on condition 
that the alliance was kept secret; but H61oise, with characteristic greatness of 
mind, refused to compromise his career by so tightening his bonds. " The 
title of mistress," she said, speaking with the extraordinary abandonment of 
self that she always displayed toward her lover, " is infinitely sweeter to me 
than that of wife." She allowed herself to be persuaded, however, and, after 
the birth of her child, a son, she returned to Paris, where the secret marriage 

t " quel giorno piu non vi leggemmo avanti," Inferno, Canto V., 138. 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 149 

was celebrated, and Abelard returned to his scholastic duties. But the 
presence of H^loTse irked him; probably he felt it impossible to play the 
double part of husband and philosopher, while his wife was within reach; 
and he succeeded in persuading her, docile as ever, to return to the cloisters 
of Argenteuil. So far, he had suffered the least of the three involved in this 
tragedy; but Nemesis was close at hand. Fulbert, outwardly satisfied, was 
contemplating a dire revenge. 

All Paris was startled, one morning, by the rumour of an extraordinary 
crime. A ruffian, armed with a razor, had broken into Maitre Pierre's house, 
at night, and had shamefully mutilated the teacher. It was true. Abelard 
was unsexed; and Fulbert, fully avenged, had fled from Paris. Loud was 
the lamentation in the Sainte Montagne. 

The dominant feeling aroused by such a humiliation, in the mind of a 
man so proud as Abelard, was, naturally, that of shame; penitence took but a 
second place. He felt that he could face the world no longer; yet jealousy 
told him that he could not take the cowl, while another took H61oise, and 
knew delights, spiritual and carnal, that had once been his. H^loise, living 
only in and for her earthly husband, could refuse him nothing at such a 
crisis. She took the veil at Argenteuil, and became, for her lover's sake, the 
spouse of Christ. Abelard donned the robe of the Benedictines at the great 
abbey of St. Denis, in 11 19. 

If he had expected to regain peace and serenity in such a house, he must 
have been gievously disappointed. The abbey of St. Denis had not escaped 
the degeneracy that had already overtaken many of the monastic institutions 
of the day. It had become a centre of private and political intrigue, a 
pleasure resort for the fashionable life of Paris; laughter and the rustle of 
ladies' robes were heard in the long alleys of the cloister.* Against these 
abuses the new-comer was not slow^ to raise his eloquent voice. It was Aot 
heeded, or was received only with jeers. Abelard withdrew, by permission, 
to the monastery of Deuil, close by, where he opened a school, and gave 
himself up again to teaching, and to propagating the advanced theology that 
had already scandalized the more orthodox of Paris. His treatise on " The 
Divine Trinity and Unity," brought him before the Council of Soissons. 
The persecution of the freethinker had begun; and though the daring inno- 
vator endeavoured strenuously to justify his writings, the fathers condemned 

* B either oy, p. 97. 



150 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

him to throw, with his own hands, his book into the h'ghted brazier prepared 
in the midst of the assembly. He was then handed over, for correction, to 
the care of the abbot of St. Medard de Soissons. 

This sentence was soon annulled, and Abelard found himself once more 
at St. Denis. But not for long. Sleeping enmities were aroused; and, one 
night, Abelard, with the connivance of certain monks, fled secretly from the 
abbey, and took refuge near Nogent, in a remote part of Champagne, where 
he hoped " to avoid fame " and live secure against the malice of his enemies. 
But to avoid fame was not in the reformer's destiny. The hermit was soon 
surrounded by his followers, who converted a natural grotto into a chapel, and 
built themselves rustic huts of boughs and thatch, in this Paraclet,t the place 
of their master's consolation. 

Again he re-opened his school, again many listened to his defence of the 
truth, again he aroused the enmity of the orthodox church, who, this time, 
had as their champion the greatest name in all Christendom, the more than 
Pope, St. Bernard. Abelard's four happy years of quiet service were at an 
end. He fled to the lonely abbey of St. Gildas, in Brittany, his native 
province, " a barbarous country, the language of which I do not understand," 
where his walks were along the inaccessible shore of a sea that was always 
stormy, where dissolute monks lived only to hunt, " and the doors and walls 
were without ornament, save the heads of wild boars and the feet of hinds 
and the hides of frightful animals." t 

During all these years, though neither was forgotten by the other, no 
communication had passed between Abelard the monk and Heloise the nun. 
Now, for a brief period, the currents of their lives were to mingle again. In 
the year 1 1 28, the monastery of Argenteuil passed to the abbey of St. Denis, 
then ruled by Suger, who was no friend to Abelard. The nuns were dis- 
persed, and Heloise and her sisters found themselves without shelter. Here 
ivas the old lover's opportunity. Paraclet, bereft of its lord, had no tenants; 
Heloise had no home. An impulse swiftly acted upon, some sudden instinct 
of pity, of desire, of remorse for the sufferings of which he was the 
responsible cause, led Ab61ard to obtain permisson to offer her the shelter of 
his old retreat. She accepted this offer, and established there a nunnery, of 

t Paraclet — The Consoler, the Holy Ghost. 
+Ab61ard's letter to Philintus. "Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise," p. 19, 

Temple Classics. 



--■■^ 




MAISON COLOMBIER-BEAUNE 



Faring page 150] 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 151 

which she herself was appointed to be the first abbess. HeloTse and her 
sisters were to follow the rigorous rule of St. Benedict, modified by 
Abelard — after special study — as a concession to the frail physique of women. 

The old lovers, both taught in the stern school of suffering, seem to have 
accepted, with full self-control, the new and spiritual relationship upon which 
they were about to enter. In the priest's case, that is more easily under- 
stood. For him, though still he says, " I sigh, I weep, I grieve, I speak the 
dear name of HeloTse, I delight to hear the sound," the days of physical 
desire were past for ever. 

But what an effort must it have cost the woman, not yet in her thirtieth 
year, and with her beauty still in bloom, to accept her position, to respect 
his; to honour as her spiritual brother only, him who was her lover and her 
husband. Yet she did it — though with awful searchings of heart, with 
longings, and inward rebellion against fate, that her letters have, in measure, 
irevealed. Happily for her, the torturing joy of their last meetings was not 
for long. Already rumours and scandal were busy with their names. 
Ab61ard came one day to Paraclet; then he came no more. The lovers were 
not to meet again in this world. Only letters would pass between them — 
letters that reveal in a wonderful light the passive strength of her character, 
the utter surrender of herself, body, soul, and spirit, to the man who had 
won her love. As literature, they reveal the fact that Heloise, had she 
given her life to such work, could have excelled all the men of her time* 
in the domain of letters. As human documents, their correspondence 
remains 

" A dream, an idyll, call it what you will. 

Of man still man, and woman — -woman still." 
The man remained the man, in that, true to his new relationship to her, 
with the passing of the years he became less the lover and more the priest; 
he conquered, or he cooled. The woman, true to her type, renounced; but 
she, though she, too, attained a measure of spiritual liberty, never repented, 
and I think that she never really changed. 

The last episodes in the stormy life of Abelard are soon told. On his 
final return from Paraclet, he found the monks risen in active revolt against 
him. Attempts were made, even, to poison him in the holy cup; and he 
hardly escaped the assassin's knife. In this extremity his thoughts turned 

* Lord Lyttleton, " Life of Henry IL," quoted in " Abelard." Temple Classics 



152 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

again to the scene of those early successes in the Montagne St. G^nevi^ve, 
and Paris saw and heard him for the last time. Years that had bowed his 
head, had not changed the bent of his mind. The innovator was the 
innovator still. To Bernard, busily engaged in reforming his order in the 
lonely Valine d'Absinthe, came the news that Abelard, whom he thought a 
spent force, had broken out once more. The fanatic was furious. " On 
fermera cette bouche avec des batons," he said, and girded up his loins " to 
fight the dragon." From his renewed triumphs among the scholars of the 
Latin quarter, Abelard was summoned to the last great public scene of his 
life, the Council of Sens. 

It was on January nth, 1140. The King of France, young Louis VII., 
presided over the assembly. Abelard had hoped to be heard in his own 
defence; but judgment had already been decided upon. The offensive 
volume had been read, and condemned, overnight, by the prelates, sleeping 
over their cups. Upon the occurrence of an objectionable passage, the 
reader had interrogated the somewhat somnolent judges. " DainnatesV^ 
to which one drowsy voice had answered, " Damnamus "; while the re- 
mainder, aroused by the noise, responded, in half articulate, but appropriate 
chorus, " Namus." + Abelard, the ascetic, was condemned by the satellites 
of Bacchus. 

The old man, broken, yet still resolute, determined to appeal to the Pope. 
He set out on the long journey for Rome; but got no further than Cluny, 
where Pierre le Venerable received him, with all the gentle and tolerant 
affection that reveal him as one of the most lovable characters of the century. 
He obtained the Pope's permission to let Abelard remain with him; he even 
succeeded in reconciling him with the hitherto implacable St. Bernard. The 
old orator passed the last two years of his life in the quietude of Cluny, 
growing ever weaker in body, ever calmer in soul. At last Pierre le V^n6r- 
able had him removed to the Abbey of St. Marcel de Ch^lon, hoping that 
the change might restore his health; but the end had come. On April nth, 
1 142, the Reformer died.f 

+ We swim, 
t Bertheroy, p. 176. 
tThe tablet to the memory of Abelard, in the Church of St. Marcel is a convention- 
ally worded Latin inscription, setting forth his virtues, the date of his death 
(1142) and the fact of his removal to Paraclet. 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 153 

Pierre, writing to H^loise of her husband, says : "It is not easy to tell in a 
few lines, O my sister, the saintliness, the humility, the abnegation that he 
showed us, to which the whole monastery can bear witness ... I gave 
him high rank among our brothers, but he would be as the least of all by the 
simplicity of his clothing. It was the same with his food and all that touched 
upon the delights of the senses ... he refused everything but what was 
indispensable to life. He read continually, he prayed often, he kept per- 
petual silence." 

Helo'ise received her lover's body, and buried it in her own convent of 
Paraclet. She survived Abelard twenty years, ruling her convent so well 
that it became one of the most famous religious houses in France, in high 
repute with all the great ecclesiastics of the day. Legend, always busy with 
such lives and loves as theirs, tells us, in an ancient chronicle of Tours, that 
when they laid the body of the Abbess in the tomb of her Abelard, who had 
rested there already twenty years, the faithful husband raised his arms. 

Stretched them forth, and closely embraced his H^loise.* 

******** 

We turn now to a later phase of Burgundian life — the tournaments that 
are remembered in connection with such towns as Chalon sur Saone, and 
Dijon. 

Olivier de la Marche, that loyal servant of the House of Valois, for whom 
he suffered so many mischances, has given us, in his memoirs, a good account 
of the great tournament of La Dame des Pleurs, which took place at Chalon, 
in a field on the far side of the river, in 1449. 

Two famous knights of the time, the Sire of Lalain, who had sworn to 
appear thirty times in the lists before he attained his thirtieth year, and the 
Seigneur Pierre de Vasco, had caused a great pavilion to be set up, and lists 
to be made ready, where, for a whole year, they engaged themselves to fight 
against all coming in the name of La Dame des Pleurs. "Now this pavilion 
was palissaded and barred right honourably, and none might approach it with- 
out leave of Charolois the herald, a right honourable herald, officer-at-arms 
of the Count Charles of Charolois; and he wore his coat-of-arms, and bore 
a white baton in his hand, and kept the images ordered for the challenger's 

'"Curiosities of Literature," Disraeli, quoted in "Abelard and Heloise," Temple 
Classics. The tomb was removed later to Pfere la Chaise, the great cemetery of 
Paris. 



154 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

enterprise : and first at the head of that pavih'on, as high as might be, was 
set, on a picture, a representation of the glorious Virgin Mary, holding the 
Redeemer of the World, her Lord and her Son; and below, on the right side 
of the picture was fashioned a lady right honestly and richly clad, and her 
master in simple attire; and she was in guise of weeping so sore, that the 
tears were falling even on to the left side, where was shown a fountain, and 
on it a unicorn seated, seeming to embrace the three targets, arranged for the 
three manners of arms the challenger might furnish for his enterprise; of 
which the first was white, for the arms of the axe, the second violet for the 
arms of the sword, and the third (which was below in the manner of a 
triolet) was black for the arms of the lance, and the said targets were all sown 
with blue tears; and for these causes was the lady named the Lady of Tears, 
and the fountain, the Fountain of Tears. Now have I shown the enterprise 
and the ordering of this noble meeting (fas) : which things were strange and 
new in the country, and much admired and seen of many and divers 
personages. 

That same day came to the palace a herald, named Toulongeon, who 
summoned the herald guard of the pavilion and said to him : "Noble herald, 
I ask that you open to me, that I may go and touch one of the targets that 
are in your guard, for, and in the name of a noble squire named Pierre de 
Chandios." The herald received him right joyously, and told him that he 
was very welcome; and opened to him; and the said Toulongeon, like an 
officer well learned, kneeled before the Virgin Mary, saluted honourably the 
Lady of Tears, and then touched the white target, and said, ' I touch the 
white target for and m. the name of Pierre de Chandios esquire : and affirm 
in word of truth, saying that on the day which shall be appointed him, he 
will furnish in his person the conditioned and ordered arms for the said 
target, according to the contents of the chapters of the noble challenger, if 
God keep him from encumbrance and loyal cares.' And so he left, and the 
palissades were shut again, and the pavilion remained spread and guarded 
until mid-day, when Charolois told of the enterprise and made his report to 
the good knight messire Jacques de Lalain of his day's adventure, and how 
Pierre de Chandios had caused the white target to be touched : at which he 
rejoiced greatly, and welcomed Toulongeon the herald of these good news, 
gave gift, and named him an early day for the fight, which was the following 
Saturday. 

" On that day (which was the thirteenth day of September) the lists were 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 155 

made ready, and the house of the judge and the pavilions were spread for the 
champions; and that of messire Jacques was of white satin, sown with blue 
tears; and that of Chandios of rose red silk emblazoned with his arms about 
the roof : and came the judge to his place, accompanied by Guillaume, lord 
of Sarcy, then bailiff of Chalon, by master Pierre, lord of Goux, a great man 
in the grand council of the duke, and who was afterwards chancellor; and 
of several other councillors and noblemen well versed in the noble profession 
of arms. These having taken their places, the said messire Jacques quitted 
the church of Les Carmes, situate at the gate of the town and of the faubourg 
of the gate of St. Jehan-du-Maiseau; and after having heard three masses 
very devoutly, entered into a covered boat, accompanied by messire Pierre de 
Vasco and by several other noblemen of his house (for he kept very great 
state), and he found also, of many in the country two noblemen, brothers 
german; of whom the elder was messire Claude de Toulongeon, lord of La 
Bastie, and the other Tristan de Toulongeon, lord of Soucy . . . and 
because the said messire Jacques was a stranger in the country, they accom- 
panied him : nor evermore during this contest did they leave him. 

" Thus the knight crossed the river of Saone, and came to land at the 
island on which he was to fight : and there jumped out of his boat, clothed 
in a long robe of cloth of gold, furred with sable. He held his banner in 
his hand, figured with his devotions; with which he signed himself at the 
same time, and right well it became him. So came he into the lists, and 
presented himself before the judge,* and spake with his own mouth these 
words : "Noble king-of-arms of the Golden Fleece, commissioned by my most 
redoubted and sovereign lord the duke of Burgundy and count of Hainault, 
to be my judge in this trial, I present myself before you to keep and defend 
this enterprise and contest and on my part to furnish and accomplish the 
arms chosen and required by Pierre de Chandios according to the contents ('f 
the chapters on that behalf." The judge, habited in the coat-of-arms of the 
Duke of Burgundy, the white baton in his hand, received and welcomed him 
right honourably, and the challenger withdrew into his pavilion. 

" Not long had he been there, when there appeared upon the great bridge 
of Chalon the said Pierre de Chandios, who was coming upon his horse, 



*Duke Philippe le Bon was in Flanders at the time ; but he had sent Toison d'Or to 
officiate as judge in his place. Barante, Tome VII., p. 284. 



156 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

armed with all arms, the bacinet upon his head and the coat-of-arms upon 
his back; and, in truth, he was one of the greatest and most power- 
ful squires in all Burgundy, or in Nivernais, and might, in age, be thirty- 
one years or thereabouts. He was accompanied by the lords of Mirebeau, 
of Charny and of Seyl, and by so many lords and nobles of Burgundy that I 
should estimate the company at more than four hundred noblemen. The 
said de Chandios entered the lists upon a horse emblazoned with his arms, 
and dismounted; and the lord of Charny led him on his right before the 
judge, and made speech, and said : ' Noble King of Arms of the Golden 
Fleece, commissioned by my most redoubted and sovereign lord the duke and 
count of Burgundy, judge in this cause, here is Pierre de Chandios, my 
nephew, who presents himself before you, in order that, God aiding him, 
he may furnish and accomplish the arms by him undertaken and required, in 
encounter with the challenger of this noble contest, according to the con- 
dition of the chapters, and of the white target which he has caused to be 
touched.' 

" The King of Arms welcomed him and received him as was his due, and 
withdrew into his pavilion : and this done, everyone withdrew from the lists, 
and the accustomed cries were begun; and meanwhile a cousin german of 
mine, named Anthony de la Marche, lord of Sandon, appointed marshall of 
the lists, drew near to the said Chandios by the judge's command, and bid 
him declare the number of strokes of the axe he required, and demanded to 
make and furnish these arms : and the said Chandios declared seventeen 
strokes of the axe. So the said marshall came to the judge to acquaint him 
of the number of strokes, and then he came to the said Jacques de Lalain, to 
acquaint him of his adversary's intention, and also to ask of him the axes 
which he must deliver to furnish and do battle withal. So were two axes 
given and delivered to him, which were long and heavy; and the mallets and 
heads of the said axes were fashioned like falcons' beaks, with large and 
heavy spikes above and beneath : and were bladed with a screw-plate of flat 
iron, with three nail-heads short and thick, diamond fashion, and somewhat 
after the manner of lance blades for jousting with arms of war, without 
roquet; and the said axes were taken to the said de Chandios to chose from : 
and a moment after Pierre de Chandios sallied forth from his pavilion, 
clothed in his coat-of-arms, his bacinet on his head and his visor lowered, 
crossing himself with his bannerolle : and then did his uncle, the lord of 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 157 

Charny, deliver him his axe and accompanied him far into the lists. " On the 
other side came forth messire Jacques de Lalain : and had his harness 
covered, in place of a coat-of-arms, with an over-mantle with sleeves of 
white satin sown with blue tears, of the sam.e colour as the target that his 
adversary had touched. He wore a little round helmet, and had his visor 
covered, and protected with a little collar-piece of steel-mail (maille d'acier) : 
and after the recommendation of his bannerolle, Messire Pierre Vasco handed 
him his axe. 

" So paced the champions each towards the other with great assurance, and 
met before the judge, and, at first each was on his guard against the other. 
But before long they ran together and dealt great and heavy blows, knightly 
given and borne on one side and the other; and I remember that the said de 
Lalain (who knew that the axes he had given and delivered had no spike nor 
point with which he could bend nor injure his adversary) stepping aside some 
distance turned his axe, making the head the tail, and the tail the head : and 
came forward again with a great effort and reached the said Chandios, with 
the spike of his axe on the vizor of the bacinet, and gave him so great a blow 
that he broke the point on the vizor; but the said Chandios (who was strong 
and great, powerful and valiant) did not give way; but began again the 
battle between them more fiercely and proudly than before, so that they be- 
set one another so fiercely that in a short time the seventeen strokes required 
by the said de Chandios were accomplished. 

" Then Toison d'Or threw down the baton, and the combattants were 
taken and separated by the men-at-arms appointed as guard and attendants, 
and to act as is the wont in such a case; and they, taken before the judge, 
touched together, and returned each whence he had come, and those arms 
were accomplished (achev^es) on a Saturday, the i8th day of September, the 
year 49."* 

So ended the first combat, which was followed by many others at which 
several knights and squires of Burgundy, Nivernais, Savoy and Switzerland 
presented themselves. Among the audience were the duke and duchess of 
Orleans and a brilliant company from the court of Italy. At the close of 
the tournament a great banquet was given to all the nobles who had taken 
part, at which the guests were entertained with many "entremets," as the 
representations given during the repast were called. The giver of the feast 

*01ivier de la Marche. Memoires, Petitot's edition, cap. xxi., pp. 5-11. 



158 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

had desired that all combattants should be painted in their armour, and his 
own portrait was exhibited with a couplet at the foot, expressing thanks to 
all noble companions who had accepted him as adversary, and offering to 
serve them on all occasions, in person or property, as their brother in arms. 
He presented to 1 oison d'Or a fair robe of sable, and after having courte- 
ously saluted the Lady of Tears, and kissed the feet of the Holy Virgin, he 
retired; and the picture, the image and the unicorn were carried, in solemn 
procession, to the church of Chalon.f 

We shall hear more of these Burgundian Tournaments when we come 
to speak of the royal court at Dijon, and the festivities of the Tree of Charle- 
magne. Here I conclude the subject, for the present, merely reminding my 
readers that these heavily armoured and comparatively innocuous fights were 
but the slow development of sterner combats, such as that which occurred 
in 1273, when Edward I. of England passed through Burgundy, on his way 
to meet Philip III. returning from Italy. The Burgundians, wishing fit- 
tingly to celebrate the occasion, organized a tourney at Chalon sur Saone. 
"There was a battle," says Mathew of Westminster, "but the English were 
victors and slew several who were despoiling the conquered; but as these 

last were men of small condition, the matter was not followed up."* 

****** * * 

Modern Chalon sur Saone has not very much that is attractive. The 
most interesting streets are those around the old cathedral of St. Vincent, 
before which, on Sunday morning, there is a busy market scene. The 
church is a fairly good specimen of Burgundian Gothic of the I2th to 14th 
centuries; but it appears to have been so much restored that a dogmatic 
opinion concerning its age would be unusually dangerous. The choir appears 
to be of the 13th century, and the arches, with unribbed vaults, of the late 
1 2th. Strong Roman and Byzantine influence is everywhere apparent, and 
there are some rich late Gothic side chapels. The upper part of the design 
betrays the same fault as at St. Benigne de Dijon. The triforium — weakly 
designed — and the parapet above it, are lifted up to the clerestory, leaving an 
unsightly space of bare wall above the arches of the nave. The shafts of the 
high vault are taken down, as usual, on to fluted pilasters, with highly orna- 
mented capitals. The fagade of the church is modern, and unsuccessful. 

In the old quarter, I remember one particularly good timbered Gothic 
house, known as the Maison de Bois. 

tDe Barante, Tome VII., pp. 284-5. *Petit, Tome VI., p. 20. 




n/^soN PC po>3.cv^M.oNi»».s^o^^^^ 




CHAPTER XI 



Tournus is an attractive old town, lying asleep on a hill beside the Saone. 
Through it ran, north and south, the old Roman road of Agrippa. Its chief 
monument, the church of the ancient abbey of St. Philibert, whether viewed 
from within or from without, is one of the most striking examples I know, 
of the barbaric majesty of early Burgundian art. The grim facade, with its 
two-storied narthex of three bays — the oldest Clunisian porch — and its 
machicolations and towers, recalls the fortified churches of Provence and 
Languedoc, built when the southern land still shook with fear at the thought 
of the northern "crusaders," or the sea-pirates of the south. Nor does the 
sight of the interior do other than confirm that impression. 

Passing through the lower storey of the gloomy portal, that might well 
have served to imprison the bodies of men — ^just as, symbolically, it was a 
shadowy ante-chamber, a purgatory of souls not yet fitted for the full light 
of Paradise — we emerged into a church whose rugged strength had in it some- 
thing awful and menacing, suggestive of a period even more barbaric than 
that eleventh century in which the nave and narthex were built. 

This impression may possibly have a historical as well as an imaginative 
basis, owing to the fact that the church has been twice destroyed — first by the 
Huns, and later by fire — both disasters occurring so soon after construction, 
that the original design may have been adhered to closely.* 

Several points of detail catch the eye immediately, especially one most 
Unusual feature — that the axes of the barrelling are at right angles to the 

*"L'Art en Bourgogne." Perrault-Dabot p. 55. 



TOURNUS BY THE SAONE i6i 

longitudinal axes of the church. One notices also the great height of the 
aisles, and the transfer of capitals from their usual position on the columns 
of the nave, to the vaulting shafts. The aisle columns are engaged in the 
wall. The apse has a fine ambulatory, and five square radiating chapels. 
This part of the church dates from the latter part of the eleventh century, 
and contrary to the evidence of the square chapels, v^^hich are somew^hat 
Cistercian, was built under Clunisian influence. Roman example also is 
apparent. Over the transept is a fine central tower of the twelfth century, 
beneath which is a dome with Burgundian fluted pilasters. The general 
barbarity of the romanesque is lightened in the apse by carved shafts, of great 
delicacy and beauty, which have been selected by Viollet-le-Duc for illustrat- 
ing the section on colonnettes in his " Dictionnaire Raisonn^." 

The lower part of the narthex, or rather its extraordinarily massive pillars, 
are generally attributed to the tenth century; the towers, both of which have 
some good carving, to the eleventh; and the upper part of the south-west 
tower to the twelfth. The upper chamber of the narthex, loopholed in 
several places, was probably intended for the defence of the abbey,t further 
security being afforded by the enceinte and gate, of which the round tower 
opposite formed part. A door opened from the upper narthex to the interior 
of the church, so that defenders might attend the office. 

The crypt, which occupies the whole of the space beneath the choir, has 
many pillars, so cunningly disposed that they give to this part of the church 
an appearance of much greater size than is really the case. It contains 
several relics of the past, notably a wooden vierge of the twelfth century, the 
sarcophagus of St. Valerien, and a twelfth century fresco, the earliest of its 
kind in the department. The central chapel in the crypt is the best part of 
the building, architecturally; though the beautiful columns and capitals of 
the eleventh century, including two Roman ones, do not harmonize well with 
the primitive roof. 

Very little now remains of the ancient monastery; but the fifteenth- 
century salle abbatiale is still to be seen in the Place des Arts, on the south- 
east side of the church. The buildings on the site of the cloisters are still 
known as the carr6. 

Saint Philibert, after whom the church is named, was not a Burgundian 
saint; but the monks who had the keeping of his relics, driven from their 

tVioUet le Due seems to doubt whether it was originally intended for defence. 



l62 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



monastery of Noirmoutiers, established themselves at Tournus. That the 
cult of this Saint eventually gained great popularity in Burgundy, is evident 
from the number of churches — St. Philibert of Dijon, of Mersault, &c. — 
dedicated to him throughout the province. 

While I v^^as in St. Philibert, my wife was sketching and writing in the 
sunny street outside. I have purloined the following from her note-book. 

"When I think of Tournus, there comes to my mind the picture of a dear 
little street bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. On my left, as I sit, pencil 




- ^ STREET IN TO0SJ>U&^V - 



in hand, is the west front of the Cathedral, and in front of me, a row of little, 
low, whitewashed cottages line the street. Above the last cottage there rises 
a heavy gable, thick, and white, and solid, pierced only by one little grated 
window. This gable is a fragment of the old abbey, and the arched grating 
is the window of the refectory used by the monks. There are small shops 
and more cottages on my right. The street slopes down-hill, and ends in a 
little, round, white tower, with a round, brown, pointed hat. It is the sort 



TOURNUS BY THE SAONE 163 

of tower that one longs to get round the other side of, or, best of all, into. 
A great, warm, purple shadow crosses the street in front of me, and creeps 
a little way up the white cottages opposite. It leaves a piece of wall in 
brilliant, dazzling sun, and then begins again in a jagged, purple lace fringe, 
under the heavy frieze of vine-leaves over the doors. 

"An old lady, in white cap and woolly shawl, walks out of a cottage, and 
into my sketch. The little boys round me, with best striped Sunday socks, 
and mouths full of sweets, suddenly become eager and interested, whereas 
before they were only curious. 

"Hey! La gran'm^re!" they whisper excitedly; and a discussion ensues 
as to whose grandmother it is. There must be heaps of grandmothers 'n 
Tournus, and I have only shown her back view disappearing round the little 
white tower. And, because of the human interest with which my picture is 
now endowed, the crowd of little boys becomes quite twice as large." 



Wandering to-day through the quiet, sleepy, but by no means poverty- 
striken streets of Tournus, one can easily forget the condition of awful misery 
to which this part of Burgundy was reduced at the close of the tenth and the 
beginning of the eleventh centuries, when the old church of St. Philibert was 
in course of construction. The horrors of that period — when the faithful, 
eagerly awaiting the second coming of Christ, had, as they thought, ocular 
demonstration that the end of all mankind was at hand — have been best de- 
picted for us by that strange figure, the priest, Raoul Glaber. 

This, the most vivid historian of his time, was a wild, unbalanced, eccentric 
visionary, whom one of his uncles, himself a monk, had dedicated to the same 
vocation, in the hope that monkish discipline would cure his natural perver- 
sities. The hope was not fulfilled, for Raoul the Bald, always restless and 
dissatisfied, wandered, in turn, from monastery to monastery, appearing 
successively at St. B6nigne de Dijon, Moutier St. Jean, St. Germain d' 
Auxerre, Beze, and Cluny, finding only in St. Guillaume and St. Odilon, 
at the first and last named houses, masters of calibre enough to calm his 
troubled spirit, and encourage his literary bent. 

But, wherever he might be dwelling, Raoul remained an unhappy man, 
a victim of a disordered and powerful imagination. He himself tells us of the 
frequent visions to which he was subject; visions not without interest 



i64 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

as throwing light upon the mental condition of the time. At Moutier 
appeared to him Guillaume de St. Benigne, who, laying his hand upon the 
bald head, said gently; " Do not forget me, I beg of you, if it be true that 
I have sincerely loved you; accomplish rather, such is my desire, the work 
you have promised to me."* 

Not all his visions were so consoling. Conscience often brought the devil 
to his dreams. He saw one night, standing at the foot of his bed, " A 
hideous little monster. He was of middle height, with a thin neck, a skinny 
figure, eyes very black, a narrow and wrinkled forehead, a flat nose, a wide 
mouth, swollen lips, chin short and tapering, a goat's beard, straight ears, hair 
dirty and stiff, dog's teeth, the back of his head pointed, a protruding belly, 
a hump on the back, hanging buttocks and dirty clothing. His whole body 
appeared to be animated by a convulsive and desperate activity. He seated 
himself on the edge of my bed and proceeded to say to me; ' You will not 
remain here much longer,' then ground his teeth and repeated; ' You shall 
not stay here any longer.' I jumped out of bed; I ran to prostrate myself 
at the foot of the altar of Father Benedict; I recapitulated all the sins I had 
committed since my childhood, whether by negligence or perversity." 

This strange work of his, which recounts in a chaotic, tortured manner, 
without order and without literary grace, though with extraordinary vividness 
and effect, the chief social, political, and religious events of the period dating 
from 900 to 1046, is the most highly coloured, yet, at the same time, the most 
sincere and the most valuable document we possess concerning the first half 
of the eleventh century in Burgundy, The book deals only briefly with the 
political events of his time, but is extraordinarily prolix concerning monks 
and marvels, which are a source of constant bewilderment to his troubled 
brain. 

For poor Raoul never attained the calm assurance of the established Chris- 
tianity of his day, nor came near to realizing the monkish ideals of Cluny and 
Citeaux. His book is full of dreadful visions, such as the one we have al- 
ready described. He sees the powers of evil lurking and prowling after men, 
as lions that lie in wait for their prey. No Christian charity is found in him, 
no tenderness, no hope; only the spirit of revolt, of discontent, of disgust; 
superstitious fear and hallucinations chasing one another through his tortured 
mind, until, at last, with despairing appeals to the Divine pity, he falls into 

* The history of his time, by Raoul Glaber. 



TOURNUS BY THE SAONE 165 

nervous crises which paralyse his mental and physical action. Nor was so 
terrible a state of mind then unnatural to any timid ones, whose temperament 
forbade them to shelter soul, as well as body, within the safe fold of the 
church. The events which Raoul himself describes as happening, within 
his own experience, here, in this district round Tournus, are such as might 
well wreck all but the strongest minds, or those fortified by an incorruptible 
faith in the good providence of God. Look at his picture of the famine of 
1 03 1, and you will cease to wonder that, in those days, men dreamed strange 
dreams. 

"Famine commenced to desolate the universe, and the human race was 
threatened with imminent destruction. The temperature (seasons) became 
so contrary that no fitting time was found to sow the land, none favourable 
to the harvest, chiefly on account of the water with which the fields were 
flooded. One would have said that the elements, enraged, had declared war 
on one another, when, they were, in fact, but obeying Divine vengeance in 
punishing the insolence of men. . . . This avenging scourge had first 
begun in the East; after having ravaged Greece, it passed to Italy, spread 
among the Gauls and spared not even the people of England. All men 
equally felt its attacks. The great, those of middle estate and the poor, all 
had their mouths equally famished, the same pallor was upon their foreheads; 
for even the violence of the great had given way at last to the common 
dearth. When they had fed on beasts and birds, that resource once exhausted, 
hunger was no less keenly felt, and, to appease it, men must needs resort to 
devouring corpses, or even, to escape death, uproot the trees in the woods, 
pluck the grass in the streams; but all was useless, for against the wrath of 
God there is no refuge save God Himself. Alas! must we believe it."* 
Fury of hunger renewed those examples of atrocity so rare in history, and 
men devoured the flesh of men. The traveller, assaulted on the road, suc- 
cumbed to the blows of his aggressors. His limbs were torn, grilled on the 
fire, and devoured. Others, flying their country to escape famine, received 
hospitality on the road, and their hosts slew them in the night that they might 
furnish food. Others lured children away with the offer of an egg or an 
apple, and immolated them to their hunger. In many a place corpses were 
unearthed to serve for these sad repasts. One wretch dared even to carry 
human flesh to the market of Tournus, to sell it cooked for that of animals. 
He was arrested and did not attempt to deny his crime; he was garrotted, 



i66 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

then thrown to the flames. Another, during the night, stole this flesh that 
they had buried in the earth; he ate it, and was also burned. 

"Three miles from Macon, in the forest of Chatigny, is an isolated church 
consecrated to St. John. Not far from there, a scoundrel built a cabin, 
where he cut the throats of any passers-by, or travellers who stopped with him. 
The monster then fed upon their bodies. One day, a man came there with 
his wife, to ask for hospitality, and rested a few moments. But, throwing 
his glance round all the corners of the cabin he saw the heads of men, women 
and children. Immediately he is troubled, he grows pale, he would leave; 
but his cruel host endeavours to keep him there by force. The fear of death 
doubles the traveller's strength; at last he escapes with his wife, and runs 
with all haste to the town. There he hastens to communicate this frightful 
discovery to Count Otho and all the other inhabitants. They send instantly 
a large number of men to verify the fact; they press forward, and on their 
arrival find the wild beast in his haunt, with forty-eight heads of men whom 
he had butchered, and whose flesh he had already devoured. They take him 
to the town, hang him up to a beam in a cellar, then throw him to the 
flames. We, ourselves, were present at his execution." 

"They tried, in the same province, a means which was not, we believe, 
adopted elsewhere. Many persons mixed a white earth, like clay, with any 
bran or flour they might have, and made loaves therewith to satisfy their cruel 
hunger. The faces of all were pale and emaciated, the skin drawn tight and 
swollen, the voice shrill and resembling the plaintive cry of dying birds. The 
great number of the dead forbade any thought of their burial, and the wolves, 
attracted for a long time past by the odour of corpses, came to tear their prey. 
As they could not give separate burial to all the dead, because of their great 
number, men full of the Grace of God, dug, in many places, ditches, 
commonly called "Charniers," into which they would throw five hundred 
bodies, and sometimes more when they would hold more; they lay there 
mixed pell mell, half naked, often without any clothing. The cross- ways, 
the ditches in the fields, served as burial places. 

"The church ornaments were sacrificed to the needs of the poor. They 
consecrated to the same purpose the treasures that had long been destined for 
this use, as we find it written in the decree of the Fathers; but, in many 
places, the treasures of the churches could not suffice for the necessities of the 
poor. Often, even, when these wretches, long consumed by hunger, found 



TOURNUS BY THE SAONE 167 

means to satisfy it, they swelled immediately and died; others held in their 
hands, the food which they wished to raise to their lips; but this last effort 
cost them their life, and they perished without having been able to enjoy 
this sad pleasure. There are no words capable of expressing the pain, the 
sadness, the sobs, the plaints, the tears of the unhappy witnesses of these 
scenes of disaster, especially among the Churchmen, the bishops, the abbots, 
the monks and the religieux. It was thought that the orders of the seasons 
and the laws of the elements, which, till then, had governed the world, were 
fallen back into eternal chaos, and all feared that the end of the human race 
had come." 

Let those who haste to decry modern institutions remember that to-day 
you can buy bread in Tournus for a few sous the kilo. 



From the great abbey church that still symbolizes, in its aspect, something 
of the horror of those famine-stricken years in which it was built, we 
wandered down the main street towards the river, and there rested at a little 
cafe in the Place de I'Hotel de Ville, which is adorned, as might have been 
expected, by a statue of Greuze. Here we were waited on by a kindly, grey- 
haired, stupid, but intensely curious old lady, who, wearied by sixty years of 
monotonous Tournusian life, was anxious to imbibe from passing travellers, 
all available gossip, concerning themselves and the world from which she was 
cut off. My wife showed her some sketches. They left her cold. 

" Vous faites 9a a coup d'oeil ? " she said, and yawned. 

"Madame est artiste," I interjected, carelessly, using a word which suggests 
public performer, or actress, rather than artist. The old woman thawed. 
Smiling, she turned to my wife. 

"In that case madame will be able to earn her evening at the Caf6 de !a 
Terrasse, beside the river. All the artistes go there, and there is a piano and 
singing." We acquiesed, without intending to go. Meanwhile the old lady 
studied my wife closely. 

"Do you English people dress as we do; and are you married in church?" 
She looked from one to another. 

"We were," I said, "But everyone isn't." I had answered the last ques- 
tion first. "And as to clothes, every painter and artistic person, as is well- 
known, has her little ' mode a elle.' " 



i68 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

"Justement," said our hostess, "Is this your tour de noces?" 

The negative reply grieved her. While I paid for the coffee, Madame 
cast an eye upon the retreating figure of my wife; 

"Comme Madame est grande," she said, "Et bien belle!" 

A few yards away, in the Rue de I'Hopital, we came to a little inn with 
the pretty sign "Au Point de Jour," and the inscription on a board, in capital 
letters : 

"Avan le jour commence ta journ6e 
De I'Eternel le sainct nom b6nissant 
Loue le encore et passe ainsy lann^e 
Ayme Dieu et ton procchain. 1672." 

A little girl, who had been sitting before the inn, approached. Pointing 
to the inscription, she said scornfully : 

"That's not French." 

"Pardon, mon enfant," I said, "But it is most certainly French." The 
little maid looked rather guilty for a moment. Then she cheered up. This 
French that puzzled her must be a local patois. 

"Oh, well then," she said. "C'est que je ne suis pas d'ici." (I am not 
from this part of the country) and she trotted off up the street. 

The landlady and coffee had so fully monopolized our attention that we 
had bestowed no more than a passing glance upon the statue of Greuze, 
opposite to which we had been sitting. I doubt whether it deserved more. 
Surely the most satisfactory monuments to the famous Burgundian 
painter are the house in which he was born,* the studies from his brush and 
pencil, to be seen in the local mus^e, and the rich meadows by the Sa6ne. 
All these complete a setting that enables us better to sympathize with 
Greuze's fresh and delicate art. 

The painter's life, like that of his fellow-Burgundian, Prudhon, fell short 
of happiness. Friction with the authorities of the Academy, and the merited 
failure of his classical work, "The Emperor Severus and Caracalla" — the very 
title calls up a smile, when we think of it in connection with the painter of 
"La Cruche Cassee" — caused him to cease exhibiting at the Salon, until the 
Revolution had opened the way for all painters. Yet the apparent failure 
was a blessing in disguise; it taught him his limitations, and brought him back 
from the stilted manner of his time, to the call of individual genius, and the 
freshness of nature. 

* August, 1725. 



TOURNUS BY THE SAONE 169 

He had other troubles; not the least of which was an ill-chosen wife. 
Mdlle Babuti, whose charming face he has reproduced on so many canvasses, 
was not so easy to live with as her picture, perhaps idealized by the painter, 
would lead us to believe; and Greuze himself lacked that touch of philosophy 
which would have counterbalanced his natural sprightliness of character. 
Finally came the crowning disaster, the Revolution, that robbed him of 
nearly all he possessed; so that, though the Convention gave him lodgings in 
the vacant chambers at the Louvre, he died in complete poverty. Shortly 
before his death, he remarked to his friend, Barthelemy : 

"At my funeral you will be the poor man's dog." 

It is said that Napoleon, hearing of the painter's wretched end, said : "If 
I had known his situation, I would have given him a Sevres vase full of gold, 
in payment for all his cruches cass^es."* 

We need not, in these pages, discuss Greuze 's art; but we may recall its 
best feature. Though his manner sometimes lays him open to the charge of 
being merely pretty and graceful, to the exclusion of greater qualities, we 
must not forget that he was one of the first who brought men back to nature 
— at a time when nature was everywhere forgotten — and reminded them, 
beautifully, that the simple incidents of village life, the small joys and sor- 
rows that swell the breast of the rustic maid over the broken jug, or the wel- 
come home of her lover, are not less elementally joyful or tragic, not less 
worthy the attention and sympathy of the true artist, than scenes of court and 
throne, and kindred emotions that, by the caprice of chance, swell the breasts 
of kings and decide the destinies of nations. 

The idyllic and pastoral effects of Greuze's art, harmonize well with the 
unpretentiousness of the town of Tournus, and also with one of its most 
delightful features, the meadow-walks that border the Saone. 

Here, at sunset, when you have gazed your fill at the mysterious towers of 
the abbey, rising above the roofs of the town, you may turn to watch the 
opalesque lights in the quivering water, that, doubling in its mirror the line 
of distant poplars, slides between reedy banks, between wide stretches of 
green pasture, where the pale herds browse. Scarcely a sound breaks the 
stillness; only, from time to time, comes the chance cry of a roystering 
Sunday youth, from a meadow far away floats the lowing of distant cattle, 
from the path the heavy tramp of an aged peasant, homeward-bound, bending 

*"L'Art en Bourgogne," Perrault-Dabot. 



TOURNUS BY THE SAONE 171 

beneath the weight of his spade. From the river, where, all day long, 
around idle punts, tempting baits have been dipping and dropping, comes the 
flop of a lazy fish, making rings that widen over the glassy surface. Now 
a distant throb is heard, that deepens, as a tug, gaudily painted in red and 
black, with white bows, comes gliding down the river, drawing four barges 
laden with barrels. The second steamer, reversed in the water beneath, is 
hardly less vivid to the eye. Swish ! Swish ! Swish ! The water foams 
from the flat prow; all the river is decked with dancing, rainbow ripples, 
azure blue below, rose pink above, singing, bubbling, racing one another in 
music to the shore. 

This pastoral, green plain of the Saone, these luscious meadows of 
waterish Burgundy, have often recalled to me Phaedra's longing words, in 
those last days, when the burden of her life and love was more than she 
could bear. 

" Oh, for a deep and dewy spring, 

With runlets cold to draw and drink! 

And a great meadow blossoming, 

Long grassed, and poplars in a ring, 
To rest me by the brink." f 
Not less lovely was the same spot next morning, when all the landscape 
shone in a light that had in it already something of southern intensity; when 
wind and sun were stirring the rushes by the water side, and jewelling the 
rippled sweep of the river below the dark towers of St. Philibert. Two gaily- 
caparisoned horses, led by a small boy in a black blouse, came plodding 
along the towing-path. Two rowers were easing the horses' labours, with 
long oars which flashed as they rose and fell. The banks and meadows were 
dotted with the same herds of white philosophers, browsing, and lazily 
swishing their tails; only, this morning, heads were bent down to the 
luscious feast of green, whereas, towards evening, they are lifced, to ruminate 
through long hours of dreamy delight. 



Macon, to which we paid a flying visit during the interval between two 
trains, was once the capital of the Maconnais, until that country was incor- 
porated with the Duchy of Burgundy. It is now too wholly modern a town 

f'Hippolylus " of Euripides, Gilbert Murray's translation. 



172 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



to retain much character or interest. Almost all the ancient houses are 
destroyed, and of the two cathedrals — St. Pierre and St. Vincent — the 
former is wholly modern. The west front of the old church, which 
was sacked during the Revolution, remains. Our best impression of Macon 
was the view of the town and river from the train, as it left for Bourg. 





CHAPTER XII 



Ever since developing a keen interest in the fortunes of the great Bur- 
gundian monasteries, we had decided to take the first opportunity of seeing 
the Valley of the Ouche, and Labussiere, the adopted daughter of Citeaux. 

It was a public holiday; and the train from Dijon was packed with 
excursionists. I found myself the only male in a compartment crammed 
with eight old ladies, mostly stout, and all in holiday spirits. We fell into 
conversation. They all expressed kindly interest in the task that had 
brought me to Dijon. I was catechized. 

" Has Monsieur seen the prisons of Dijon?" 

" No, Madame; je n'aime pas beaucoup ces endroits la." Little tinkling 
laughs ran all round the carriage. 

" But I only just missed seeing them yesterday — because I had left behind 
me my permis de circulation. You have so many regulations in France." 

" Talking of regulations. Monsieur," said the stoutest and shrewdest of 
the old ladies, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, " Permit me to call to 
your attention to the fact that you are in a " Dames seules!" 

" Mille pardons, Mesdames; but permit me to observe that I have chosen 
my company well." 

This time the compartment rang with laughter; and eight bonnetted 
heads bobbed in recognition of the courtoisie. 

" And if we let him stay, Monsieur will promise to be bien sage.?" 



174 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

" Assurement, Mesdames, foi de Lion." So the banter went on, until 
our station was called; and in ten minutes we found ourselves lunching in a 
meadow of St. Victor, and looking up at the Castle of Marigny perched 
upon its rock. 

In the time of the first Crusade, Marigny, the great fortress, whose lord 
was one of the four most powerful barons of Burgundy, proudly dominated 
the valley. Now it is but a charming relic, where you may wander beneath 
broken arches and the ivied vaults of great chambers, from whose crannied 
floors young fir-trees grow, and bushes hoary with silver lichen. There, too, 
)'Ou may wile away all a summer day, lying upon mossy, blossom-jewelled 
lawns, and dreaming dreams of the great lords of Marigny, and of Brother 
Alberic of Labussiere, or of Tebsima, the Arab exile, whose bones rest in a 
mountain tomb not far away. All the hills hereabout are full of memories 
of this most gracious of all Burgundian legends. 

Tebsima Ben-Beka (Smile Son of Tears) — so named because his birth 
brought joy and death to his mother — was a direct descendant of the prophet 
himself. Growing up a strong and courageous youth, imbued with a fierce 
hatred of all Christians, he fought valiantly for Islam in the great struggle 
of the Crescent against the Cross,* but was taken prisoner by Guillaume, 
Lord of Marigny, at the assault of Jerusalem in 1099. Guillaume, from 
the first, was drawn towards his young prisoner, whom he tried earnestly to 
convert to the Christian faith. His prayers were heard, and answered by a 
wonderful miracle. Tebsima and some companions were present one day, 
as spectators at a holy celebration. The officiating priest had pronounced 
the sacramental formula, and was elevating the host, when, suddenly, the 
sacred emblem was seen by all to change into the form of a young child of 
marvellous beauty. All present fell upon their faces. Before the priest 
stood a crystal chalice, filled with white wine and water. He took it 
between his hands, and spoke the mysterious words. As he did so, the wine 
changed to blood. Before the new miracle the hardest heart surrendered. 
Tebsima became a Christian. 

In the chalice rested ever after a drop of blood. Guillaume de Marigny 
was given the sacred relic by the priest, on condition that he would stay two 
years longer in Palestine. This condition he fulfilled; then, taking with 
him Tebsima, whose life, as a Christian, was in mortal danger so long as he 

*Godefroy de Bouillon left France for the crusade in 1096. 



IN THE VALLEY OF THE OUGHE 175 

stayed in the East, Guillaume set out for France. For three long years his 
wife, Matilde, sorrowing, had awaited her lord. Imagine, then, her joy 
when, gazing one day from the battlements of the castle, she heard, floating 
from far down the valley, the blare of the Crusader's trumpets, then caught 
the glint of sun on shining armour, and, at last, the white plume tossing 
upon her husband's helmet. 

The Holy Tear, as people had learned to name the sacred relic that 
Guillaume had brought with him, was placed, with all reverence, in tlie 
tabernacle of the chapel, and every year a solemn fete was celebrated in its 
honour. Tebsima, the exile, lived in the Castle of Marigny, where Guil- 
laume and his lady treated him as their brother. But his heart ached to see 
his own people again; and, when the winter cold of Burgundy pierced him 
through and through, he longed for the strong suns of the East. So he told 
his friends of his resolution, and, despite their protests, returned whence he 
came. But his own family, much as they loved him, would not receive him 
when they knew the truth. How could the very children of Mahomet 
welcome a follower of the Christ.? So, after sorrows and adventures, 
too inany to tell, Tebsima came a second time to the great Castle by the 
Ouche. Warm, indeed, was the welcome he received, and great the re- 
joicing, when he told how he had sworn never to leave Burgundy again. 

One day a brilliant cavalcade was seen riding down the valley. It was 
the cortege of Hugues,§ the Duke of Burgundy, come to celebrate, by a 
day's hunting with the lord of Marigny, the safe return of the young Emir. 
An hour later the horns sounded the ballad of St. Hubert from the Castle 
tower, and the hunt was laid on. A noble stag broke from the thicket. 
There was hue and cry down into the valley of Labussiere, where the beast 
was brought to bay. Suddenly, with a splendid bound, it cleared the baying 
hounds, and made furiously for the ladv of the castle, who had followed the 
hunt. Tebsima, on his Arab steed, that many a time had been his saviour, 
saw the danger, and pressed forward. His blade pierced the stag's body up 
to the hilt, but not before the terrible horns had buried themselves deep in 
the horse's side.* 

§Hugues le Pacifique, one of the worthiest of the Capetian Dukes of Burgundy, 

died in T142. 
*The spring that marks the site of this incident is still called the Fontaine-Cheval. 

It runs into the rivulet De Larvot, by the "Pre de I'Etang." See I'Abbe 

B s "Tebsima," p. 179. 



176 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

The violence of Tebsima's fall, the loss of his horse, that, to an Arab, is 
as the loss of a brother, and the chill winds of Burgundy, wrought mortal 
harm in the young Arab. Then came a yet greater disaster. It was on the 
great day of the veneration of the Sainte Larme. A young page, nobly 
dressed in black, came at evening to the castle chapel, and knelt in prayer 
before the relic. A moment later the page and the relic had gone. Tebsima, 
who first noticed the theft, rode headlong in pursuit. Seeing the black rider 
in front of him, he summoned him, by the blood of Christ, to halt; and, 
behold, the mule, despite its rider's efforts, stood immovable, as though 
changed to stone. Tebsima drew near to the thief, demanded the return 
of the relic. 

" Since I cannot keep it," said the page, " let it be lost for ever to the 
Chapel of Marigny." He hurled the chalice down the face of the rock, and, 
drawing his sword, attacked the Emir, who, while avoiding the blow, 
plunged his scimitar into the mule's body. The animal bounded into the air; 
and man and beast rolled headlong over the brink of the ab)ASS, and were 
dashed to pieces on the stones below. Weeping bitterly, Tebsima 
descended to seek the fragments of the cup. He found them lying in a 
dozen pieces, where a little stream bubbles from the rock. That stream is 
called to this day the Fontaine de Sainte Larme; and still its limpid waters 
seem to weep the sacrilege its name commemorates, f 

The holy relic had vanished for ever. So, with the precious object that 
had served always to remind Tebsima of the miracle of his conversion, all 
hope in this life departed from the stricken Emir. Feeling himself to be 
dying, he left the Castle of Marigny, and withdrew to the pleasant grotto 
that by chance he had discovered, near by, in the side of the hill. There he 
lived the life of a hermit, giving his mind wholly to devotion and earnest 
prayer — which was granted — for conversion to the Faith of Christ of his 
relatives in the East. There he was visited frequently by the lord and lady 
of Marigny, who brought him food, and oil for his lamp. He had another 
friend, to whom he told all his story — the good Alberic, the infirmier i;t 
the neighbouring monastery of Labussi^re. 

Into that grotto of Marigny there entered, one stormy night, a group 
of monks. One of them bore the cross of the monastery; another, Brother 
Alberic, carried a robe and a scapular. Two novices, torch in hand, 

tTebsima, p. 185. 



IN THE VALLEY OF THE OUGHE 177 

preceded the Abbot, who carried the oil and the holy mysteries. Then they 
clothed Tebsima in the robes of the order, and consecrated him to the 
service of the church. + And so, while a great wind howled through the 
hollows of the wooded hills, peacefully, with folded hands, and lips pressed 
upon the cross of olive, the new monk passed to the joys of the new life. 

The good Alberic had been one of the three brothers who, at the close of 
the eleventh century, had founded a little monastery beside the Ouche, in 
the lonely vale of Labussiere, where three mountain ranges and three 
valleys meet. He had once been a rich lord; but, when years of famine 
came, he sold all that he had, and gave to the poor and to God; then, 
having nothing beside to give, he gave his heart, vowing himself to the 
religious life. Virtues such as his soon raised him to the head of the 
monastery; but, well though he filled his post, troubles beset his way. Monk 
after monk was laid in the cemetery; the cells were empty, and none came 
to fill them. All the stream of monastic vocation was turned towards 
Citeaux, the then flourishing Abbey, whose fortunes we have already 
followed. 

One summer night, in 1131, when the tale of the monks of Labussiere 
had dwindled to the original number, three, a mysterious vision came to 
Alberic. 

He was walking, on a bright morning, in the monastery garden. Suddenly 
he paused before a hive whose tenants seemed to be few and ailing. He 
raised the cover; the hive was almost empty. " Poor little bees," f he said, 
with a sigh, " What will become of you during the winter?" He thought 
of his own convent, and he wept. Suddenly he heard a noise coming from 
the mountain, then he perceived a vigorous swarm humming above his head; 
and, in a moment, the bees of the valley had come forth to greet their sisters 
of the hill. All together entered the hive, and set to work with joyful 
hum. Towards the close of the day Brother Alberic lifted the basket. It 
was heavy, and already half full. " God be praised," said he. " The 
future of the hive is assured." As he awoke, at dawn, he heard a voice 
saying to him, " Do as the bees of the valley, and your work shall live." 

+Ibid, p. 220. 
*The spot was called originally Tres Valles — The Three Valleys. 
tHe did not use the word abeille, but the prettier mediaeval form, avette, from the 
Latin apicula little bee. " Labussiere et Citeaux," p. 233 of Tebsima, by 
rAbb6 B 



i7« BURGUNDY . THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

At first Alberic did not understand this vision; but the next day, while 
giving alms at the gate of the convent, one of the poor told him that a great 
fire had destroyed the monastery of Aseraule, vi^hose monks were in dire 
distress. This news was a ray of light to Alberic. He told his brother 
monks of the dream that had come to him, and of the burning of the neigh- 
bouring monastery. They marvelled greatly, and all knew surely that God's 
will bade them summon the Cistercians of the mountain. 

In all haste they went to offer aid to their homeless brothers; and there 
they met the pious English monk, Stephen Harding, friend of St. Robert, 
and St. Bernard's master, who had come to offer the shelter of Citeaux. 
Falling at Stephen's feet, and kissing his hand, Alberic begged him to take 
into his order himself, his companions, and their monastery. Stephen 
willingly consented. He gave to Alberic and his companions the white 
robe of Citeaux, and soon after traced with his own hand upon the soil of 
Labussiere the plan of a new monastic church. Stone by stone the building 
grew, until, on the lOth September, 1172, in the presence of a vast assem- 
blage, before all the clergy and nobles of Burgundy, the new church was 
consecrated by Saint Pierre, Archbishop of Tarentaise, who, by prayer and 
the laying on of hands, wrought so many miracles of healing that day, that 
the people, witnessing these prodigies, shouted, till the three valleys were 
echoing with their cries of " Noel, Noel ! " The Abbey of Labussiere was 
well founded at last. 

* * * * ♦ * * 

A great part of the Abbey buildings still remain, restored almost beyond 
recognition, and transformed into a magnificent mansion, now in the occupa- 
tion of a family whose name I have forgotten. To our great regret we were 
unable to see the house, as the gardien had vanished, taking the keys with 
him; so we had to content ourselves with glimpses of glorious Gothic 
arcades, Romanesque staircases, and a west front, apparently of the fifteenth 
century, with a flamboyant door. But much of the building may be entirely 
new, for all I know. 

It was late in the afternoon that we rode into Labussiere, and as we had 
to get on to Bligny that night, very little time was left in which to do more 
than explore the church, a thoroughly good sample of Cistercian severity, 
of the eleventh or twelfth century, with a square apse. , It has some fine 
tombs, and Gothic monumental slabs. Dining that night in the " Cheval 



IN THE VALLEY OF THE OUGHE 179 

Blanc " at Bligny, where the host served to us, at half an hour's notice, a 
dinner that the Carlton could not have bettered, for hungry men, w^e 
agreed that it would not be easy to find a more charming pays than the 
valley of the Ouche, in which to pass a lazy fortnight, tracing out some of 
its hundred legends, and steeping oneself in its romantic past. 

The road to Arnay-le-Duc, without being more than ordinarily interest- 
ing, gives you some fine views over the Cote d'Or. You pass through 
Antigny-le-Chatel, where there is a fine ruin on a hill, and below it a later 
ghostly castle of the 14th or 15th century, with the high-pitched roof of the 
period, and a round tower. At Froissy, entering an inn in search of dejeuner, 
we found a wedding in full swing. Through a glass panelled door we could 
(See half a dozen perspiring couples scuffling round what would be described in 
England as the bar parlour. We were detected at once; hot faces were 
pressed against the glass, while Madame produced an armful of bread, and 
some cheese on a broken plate. 

"Par ici, m'sieur et dame," said she; Vous serez mieux dans la charmesse." 
She opened the panelled door, and, one carrying the bread, and the other tlie 
cheese on a broken plate, we walked in grand procession through the ball- 
room — so shaking with our inward mirth that the cheese nearly came to 
grief. The poor bride, however — a study in sticky purple and white, not 
good to look upon — did not relish the joke; she scowled upon the intruders; 
but madame seemed glad to have us— and ready to talk to us, as we sat in 
the charmesse — a little dusty, rickety arbour, through which the south wind 
was blowing clouds of dust. 

"That castle over there. Oh ! no one has lived in it these many years 
now, except rats. You can't tax them. You see the Government put 
such heavy taxes upon the castles that they just drive people away. There's 
not a habited chateau now in all Cote d'Or. And what weather ! Such a 
wind ! Nous n'avons plus de saisons en Bourgogne. 

"Whose wedding is this?" said my wife, " looking towards the ball-room 
bar-parlour." 

"Oh that's my nephew; he is a vigneron, and a good lad. Is madame 
married, and has she children .? No children ! Then madame, je vous sou- 
haite un beau tils." 

As for me, I was speculating on the market price of rat-poison, of castles 
in the Cote d'Or, and on the squeezability of the French government in the 
matter of assessments. 



i8o BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



Few incidents in life give more pleasure than happy discovery. That is 
why we so much enjoyed Arnay-le-Duc. We just found it out, by instinct, 
or by chance. For nobody knows about it; not even the learned people who 
write guide-books. And as for the motorists; they come in with the dark- 
ness, and go out with the dawn — "Must be at Dijon by ten." 

In all France I do not know a richer study in warm, red roof-colours than 
towered Arnay, seen at sunset from the high land on the road to Saulieu, nor 
a more satisfying example of the outlines of a ramparted Gothic-Renaissance 
town. Nor, as is sometimes the case, does close acquaintance disenchant 
you. Wander through its streets, and prove for yourself that it is one of the 
most unspoiled places in all Burgundy. There is something good at every 
turn — a high-pitched, pierced, white gable, from which black window-eyes 
look out upon a dark, brown-green, mottled roof touched with red; a wall 
with a warm tiled hood; a glimpse, through a trefoiled gate, of a miniature 
Renaissance garden, with box and ivv edged borders, fruit trees jewelled with 
white blossom, and a lovely, pierced balustrade, leading up to a Kate- 
Greenaway House. 

But these are the town's less substantial, and less obvious attractions. 
Plain for all to see are the flamboyant church with its octagonal lantern, and, 
at the back of it — best approached by a charming staircase such as we have 
neither time nor skill to design now-a-days — the old round tower of the 
Motte Forte. In the central Place is a charming v/hite, turretted, and 
gabled house, reminding one of the Colombier at Beaune, and close to it, 
beside the March^, are fifteenth-century, cupid-bow windows, and an old 
Gothic arch leading into a Gothic courtyard. Some of the houses have 
curious stone benches before them, with lovely round and square-edged 
mouldings, and everywhere are quaintly designed handles and knockers of 
forged ironwork. The women, too, it seemed to us, were less heavy in 
feature, and more spirituelle, than in other parts of Burgundy. The 
naughtiest of all the naughty children who crowded and criticised round my 
wife's easel, was a beautiful blonde girl. We reproved her pranks more 
often than those of the others — because she looked so lovely when she 
blushed. 

Another attractive spot in Arnay is the walk, by a red path, between the 



i82 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

towering, moss-grown, grey-brown ramparts, where in autumn the wall- 
flowers blow. Good company, too, are the willow-fringed, elder-shaded 
stream, across which you have a glimpse of garden and orchard, and the green 
slopes over which anxious ganders take their fluffy yellow children out for 
exercise. 

But I have not yet mentioned the building that many of the locals, includ- 
ing the landlord of the Cheval Blanc at Bligny, regard as the crowning glory 
of Arnay; and that is the splendid, transitional, Gothic-Renaissance manoir 
of the Dues de Burgogne; though, of course, the landlord of the Cheval 
Blanc does not know it is anything of the kind. For him it is the Limier or 
file- factory — the best in all France. For us it is a defiled manoir — still 
showing traces of ancient loveliness, in slated turret, snake-skin roof, and 
daintily-carved friezes above the ruined dormer-windows. 

Yes : this place is good to wander in. Here comes an old man followed 
by a flock of tinkling goats. He stops before a house, and knocks at the 
door. The tinkling stops, too. Then a cup is handed out to him, to be 
filled from an accommodating goat. He hands it back quite full of warm 
milk. The door slams; the tinkling begins again. 

A very ancient, bent, bearded man, ragged and dirty, was sitting munching 
bread, on the steps that lead down from the place 

"Would you like to give him half a franc?" I said to my wife. She 
would, very much. In a moment the two were in conversation. 

"Why do you give me this?" said the old man, looking down at the coin 
in his hand. 

"Because we saw you having dejeuner yesterday, and were interested. 
This is for to-day." 

"It is much for one who is poor. Are you French ? " 

"No, English." 

"All the English are rich. Are you selling things here?" 

"No : I am making pictures for a book my husband is writing." 

"Ah ! you gain much by that ? " 

"Not very much. But we like it : we did a book on Provence once." 

"Ah Provence. I know Provence. I am from the Basses Alpes, I like 
Provence very much; you get such good wine there." 

"Don't you ? Now I must go back to the Cafe — and finish my wine." 

"Yes, and I'll finish mine." He put his head under the pump, and 
drank. 




TOUR DE LA MOTTE FORTE ARNAYUE DUG 

Fai-ing page 182] 



IN THE VALLEY OF THE OUGHE 183 

Then there was the Hotel Chretien, as I think it was called; an establish- 
ment rather casually run, but marked by a bonhomie and insouciance that 
enlivened the monotony of wet days. The commercial travellers made 
themselves very much at home with Madame and the waitress. One of 
these gentlemen, in particular, subjected the latter to a flow of chaff that 
ceased not even with the coffee. He always began with a request to her to 
recite the menu aloud, and whenever a lull came, he would turn to her, and 
say in the most innocent tone : 

"By the way, Madamoiselle, what have we to eat this evening?" 

"Is Monsieur stone deaf?" 

"Not at all. Mademoiselle; only hungry. And I like to regulate appetite 
by the dishes that are coming ! " 

Dessert came on. The voluble one cut an apple in half. It was rotten. 
"Hey, Mademoiselle; regardez-moi ga. II y en a une qui marche (There's 
one walking)." 

"So I see. He would willingly be quit of Monsieur." 

The other men would sit round sniggering — and occasionally chipping 
in; but they seldom got the better of the maid, who had a fund of repartee 
that I have rarely heard matched, even in France. 

From this house of frivolity and good cooking — the chef had been seven 
months at the Carlton — hence enough quite incomprehensible jargon to 
warrant the legend "English spoken" on the hotel omnibus — we made some 
good excursions over the undulating country that lies around Arnay; through 
miles of spring woods where brave nightingales sang on a spray before your 
very eyes; by lofty green uplands, through plateaux, suggestive of Nor- 
mandy, where the cattle and the lady's-smock dapple with splashes of white 
and mauve the rich green meadows; where the cloudless skies are mirrored 
in bluer than English ponds, and peasants' sabots clatter through the most 
tangle- wood villages of France; wide silences where your eye can roam all 
ways, along the distant hills shimmering in silver and blue, quivering with 
living light, to majestic Chateau-Neuf of Philippe Pot, and the tower- 
crowned castles of other lords of ancient Burgundy. 




CHAPTER XIII 

Of the thousand who pass through the town annually, on their way to 
Switzerland or the Riviera, only a small percentage, probably, know Dijon 
as the ancient capital of the Duchy of Burgundy; fewer still have any 
conception of the vanished glories it stands for; or could name the three 
commodities — if I may so describe them — and the principal industry upon 
which the prosperity of the modern city is based. 

From the early middle ages to the closing years of the Capetian Dukes, 
from 1032 to 1364, the essential history of Burgundy is centred rather round 
the religious communities of Cluny and Citeaux, than in the ducal courts of 
Auxerre or of Dijon. But upon the advent in that year, of the royal house of 
Valois, with Philippe le Hardi, the full light of the most glorious, and by far 
the most highly coloured, period of Burgundian history is turned upon the 
capital of the Duchy. 

Yet the "bonne ville de Dijon," through which Duke Philip rode on 
November 26th, 1364, on his way to the solemn function in the cathedral 
of St. Benigne, was no more than a second-rate city. Not only did it lack 
the glories of the Ducal Palace and the Chartreuse de Champnol that he 
himself was soon to found, but one would have missed the church of St. 
Michel, the Palais de Justice, and many other hotels, palaces, and churches, 
that, still standing, make the modern city one of the most interesting in 
France. The Dijon of that day was a straggling town of narrow, filthy, 

*Auxerre was the capital of Burgundy until 



THE CITY OF THE DUKES 185 

unpaved streets over whose projecting gables rose the towers and spires of St. 
Benigne, St. Philibert, Notre Dame, and many another Church. In wet 
weather, the mud spurted from under horses' hoofs upon the grimy walls of 
the houses on either side of the street, and it is more than probable that the 
gorgeously attired courtiers of Philip's procession arrived, splashed up to the 
knees, at the abbey. 

Twenty years later, even, in 1388, the Duke was annoyed by the dirty 
condition of the town, which was such that, in the rains of winter, neither 
man nor horse could make progress without great difficulty. Each inhabitant 
was consequently compelled to clean and level, at his own cost, the portion 
of street on which his house fronted; and a new pavement was then laid 
down, at an expense to the Duchy of two thousand golden francs. f 

But, before I tell of modern Dijon, I must say something of the first of 
the four great Dukes of the house of Valois, who were to lead Burgundy 
through its brief, meteoric career of greatness. + 

Philip, brother of Charles V. of France, and uncle of his successor the mad 
Charles VL, had deservedly won his title of "Hardi " at the battle of 
Poictiers, as Froissart has told us. He was a bold, determined, somewhat 
imprudent prince; kindly and good-natured, as is evident from a glance at 
the statue upon his tomb; but proud, ambitious, and so addicted to magnifi- 
cence that he could leave to his son only debts and the dukedom.* His 
clothing was wonderful to see, as we may judge by some of the details that 
have come down to us. In 1391, when engaged in treaty with the Duke of 
Lancaster, uncle of the King of England, he had two coats made for him. 
One, of black velvet, was embroidered, on the left sleeve and collar with a 
bunch of roses, upon which were growing twenty-two blossoms, of rubies, 
or of a single sapphire, surrounded with pearls; and rose-buds also of pearls. 
The buttonholes were made with a running embroidery of broom, with the 
pods worked in pearls and sapphires — a souvenir of the ancient order of the 
Cosse (Broom-pod),§ instituted by the Kings of France, and sometimes be- 
stowed by them as a reward for loyal service. One of the coats was em- 

tDe Barante, Tome II., pp. 69, 70. 
JThe four Dukes of the house of Valois were, Philip le Hardi, 1365-1404, Jean sans 
Peur, 1404-1419, Philip le Bon, 1419-1467, and Charles le T^meraire, 1467-1476. 
*I have heard Philip le Hardi described by a flippant American as "Philip le 

Hard-up." 
§ Compare the devise of our Plantagenet Kings. 



i86 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

broidered also with P and Y interlaced, while the other, of crimson velvet, 
showed, on each side, a silver bear, outlined in sapphires and rubies, f 

These bears were more than characteristic of the extravagance of the time; 
they were symbolical of the spirit that, possessing France in the closing years 
of the thirteenth century, departed only before the exorcisms of La Pucelle. 

The wise and noble kings, Edward IV. of England, and Charles V. of 
France, had given place to a dullard and a madman; and the people, no less 
than the princes, had lost their reason. The feudal system was passing, had 
passed; and no new political nor social order had as yet developed in its place. 
Nobles of the day, looking back upon the monkish regime and the early 
chivalry, could only ape and burlesque the outward splendours of the move- 
ments whose inward spirit and ideals they were wholly incapable of under- 
standing. It seemed that God, even, to borrow Luther's phrase, weary of 
the game, had thrown his cards upon the table. 

Such is the significance of the bear upon Philip's mantle. Everywhere 
ranged these strange and uncouth beasts. They grinned in long lines from 
the eaves of the Churches; with a thousand other fantastic fancies of dis- 
ordered imaginations, they met the eye, at every turn, in corridors of royal 
palaces, in the reception rooms of baronial halls. Foul jests and foul shapes 
leered at the passer-by from the fringes of a scarlet skirt. On a high dame's 
rustling sleeve, whose folds swept the ground, were set the notes of a song; 
rich doublets blazed with lewd figures, or with strange symbols, improper, if 
well understood. Great ladies, wearing long horns upon their heads, jested 
with lords whose pointed toes wriggled up into serpent shapes. Art, sanity, 
religion were no longer at one. All the pure and natural ornament of early 
Gothic work, filched from church and cathedral for the service of base needs, 
flaunted, in horrible disguise, in houses of pleasure and ill fame.* 

Small wonder that distracted souls, searching in thick darkness for guid- 
ance, for God, and not finding him in life, turned, at last, in despair, to the 
great negations. Death and the Devil. God had failed them; evil, at least, 
shall not fail them. In a frenzy of false joy they danced the " danse des 
morts " in the cemeteries of Paris. + 

tThe coats cost 2977 livres d'or, an enormous sum, bearing in mind the purchasing 
power of money in those days. De Barante, Tome II., p. 131^ 
*Michelet V. pp. 72-77. 
+A lady well-known in Russian " revolutionary " circles, told me, recently, of 
similar experiences in Russia to-day. Suicides are so frequent as to excite 
little comment. Children, even, have caught the contagion. "Life fails them 
— they turn to death." 












pAT IHELCAriL'l 









/ 




'A 



i88 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

Their dear king Charles, even, so beloved of a mad people, w^as not less 
mad than they. Save for occasional lucid intervals, he was a " fou furieux." 

"It was great pity, this malady of the king, v^^hich held him for long 
seasons, and when he ate it was very gluttonously and wolfishly. And he 
could not be persuaded to strip himself, and was full of lice, vermin, and 
filth. And he had a little piece of iron that he put secretly close to his flesh. 
Of which nothing was known. And it had rotted all his poor flesh, and no- 
one durst go near him to remedy it. 

"Nevertheless there was a physician who said that it must be remedied, else 
was he in danger, and otherwise as it seemed to him, there was no hope for 
the healing of the malady. And he advised that they should bring ten or 
twelve companions disguised, who should be blackened, and each one fur- 
nished beneath, lest he should wound them. And so it was done and the 
companions entered very terrible to see, into his chamber. When he saw 
them he was much astonished, and they drew nigh to him at once : now there 
had been made ready all new clothing, shirt, tunic, cloak, hose, boots, that 
they bore with them. They took hold of him, he saying many words to 
them the while, then they stripped him and put upon him the said things 
that they had brought. It was great pity to see him, for his body was all 
eaten with lice and filth. And they found on him the said piece of iron : 
every time that they would cleanse him, it must needs be done in this said 
manner." f 

Such was the France of the closing years of Philippe le Hardi's rule — King 
and country lifting clasped hands, to say, with old Lear : "Not mad, sweet 
Heaven, not mad ! " 

The condition of Burgundy, and especially of its great appanage Flanders, 
which Duke Philip had inherited from his wife, though bad, was not so 
serious as that of the country in general. 

In Dijon there was comparative security — enough for the establishment, 
under Philippe le Hardi, of a new era in Burgundian art. For Philip had great 
ideas. He never forgot that he was brother to Charles V. of France. Dijon, 
if not to rival Paris, should be at least a capital worthy of its Valois Duke. 
This jouisseur raffing must have architects, sculptors, and painters; cunning 
embroiderers, too, and workers in ivory. But above all, he must have gold- 
smiths. They came flocking in from all Flanders. "On s'harnachoit 

tjuvenal des Ursins, quoted Michelet, Tome V., p. 183. 



THE CITY OF THE DUKES 



189 



d'orfavrerie " says Martial d'Auvergne.* We have already seen the bear 
upon Philip's coat. 

He began, in 1366, with the tower of a new castle — now the Tour de Bar 
— to replace the ruined chateau of the Capetian Dukes ; and followed it, 
twelve years later, with a monastery, the Chartreuse de Champnol, at the 
gates of Dijon, where he wished to house suitably his monks and his tomb. 

The Chartreuse de Champnol re- 
mained the burial place of the Ducal 
house until the i6th century; but it 
has not survived to our day. Its 
close connection with royal authority 
marked it out for the attentions of 
the revolutionary mob. The site is 
now occupied by an "Asile des 
Alienees " as the French politely 
term a mad-house — a choice in which 
the cynic may detect either a retort 
upon rampant democracy, or a sly 
allusion to certain congenital failings 
of the House of Valois. There is 
little to be seen in the Asile des 
Ali^n^es ; but that little is so im- 
portant that we decided to go there. 
For, in the centre of the old cloister, 
was, and is, Claus Sluter's world- 
famous sculpture — Le Puits des 
Proph^tes. 

"Puits?" interrogated a sullen 
maid, laconically, as she opened to 
us. We followed in silence. Truly 
the present home of the Well is de- 
pressing, and I wish the authorities 
would remove it to a safe and more 
cheerful spot in the precincts of the 
ducal palace. .Mcaes 




*A. Germain "Les N^erlandais en BourgognCj" p. 38, 39. 



igo BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

But the work itself, though despoiled, by wind and rain, of the calvary that 
crowned it, and though quite denuded of the gold and brilliant colours with 
which it once blazed, remains one of the strongest and most impressive pieces 
of sculpture in existence. Naturally, as one would expect in the case of a 
work completed so early as the sixth year of the fifteenth century, there are 
serious and obvious faults — for instance, the figures are too short, the hands 
and feet generally too small, and the drapery, in some points, badly 
handled — but all the personalities are so striking, so individual, the whole is 
so strongly grouped, that the effect is more than majestic. As M. Germain 
well says : "II y a un souffle epique dans ces figures." Stand for five 
minutes before the stern, inflexible face of the law-giver; compare that 
statue, mentally, with the Moses of Michael Angelo, to which alone it is 
inferior, and you will begin to realize Claus Sluter's genius as a sculptor of 
the human face and form. He broke away boldly from primitive and con- 
ventional traditions, and went straight to nature, to the men about him, for 
his types. These strong physiognomies and massive forms are eminently 
Burgundian.f 

In the portal of the chapel the guide will show you other, and rather 
earlier work, generally attributed to Claus Sluter, namely, five statues re- 
presenting Philippe le Hardi and his wife Margaret of Flanders, being pre- 
sented to the Virgin by Saint Catherine and Saint John. Four of them may 
well be from the chisel of the famous sculptor, but I think, with M. Ger- 
main, that the figure of the Virgin is wrongly attributed, chiefly for the 
reason that the proportions are much longer than those of other Sluterian 
statues. 

And what of the man whose genius was to exercise such influence upon 
Burgundian art ? Little is known of him. He remains an enigmatic, 
mysterious figure, living for us only through his work, and that of the school 
of which he was the inspiring force. He died in 1406, the same year in 
which he had finished his Puits des Prophetes; leaving to his nephew, Claus 
de Werve, the task of further realizing their new ideals in sculpture. Thus 
it came about that the second Claus — an artist not unworthy to follow his 
uncle — was entrusted with the construction of the next great Burgundian 

tThe prophets are all commemorative of Christ, taken from the Messianic texts. 
The costumes are supposed to be those of the actors in the mystery plays of that 
time. Germain, p. 63. 



THE G[TY OF THE DUKES 



191 



monument we have to consider, the tomb of Philippe le Hardi, now in the 
great hall of the mus^e, once the "salle des gardes" of the Ducal Palace. 
The commission had been given originally, in 1384, to Jean de Marville, 
who died after completing the masonry and the alabaster gallery. Claus 
Sluter made some progress with the pleurants, but it was not completed until 
the end of 1 410, when young De Werve had been at work upon it for four 
years. 

The masterpiece was received with universal acclamations. Jean sans 
Peur, with a Valois' eye for the beautiful, recognised the merit of his new 
imagier, and commissioned him forthwith to do his (the Duke's) own tomb. 
Claus accepted the task, but was never able to get to work. Money lacked; 
and the Duke of Burgundy was too deeply involved in the political struggles 
of his time to give heed to such trifles as financing the construction of a tomb, 
even though it were his own. So poor Claus, filled with a glorious ideal that 
he was never able to see realized in stone, wasted his life in waiting, waiting, 
until, in 1439, death found 
him, poor and unknown, and 
laid him in an obscure tomb, 
not of his own design, in the 
Chartreuse de Champnol. So 
fare they who hang upon 
princes' favours. 

When Jean sans Peur had 
expiated, at Montereau, the 
crime of which I shall pre- 
sently tell, his son, Philippe le 
Bon, had perforce to look 
about him for another imagier 
to do the work. His choice 
fell, unwisely, upon a Spani- 
ard from Aragon, one Jean de 
la Huerta, an unscrupulous 
rascal, who bolted from Dijon 
in 1455, taking with him cash philippe le bon. 

that he had not earned, and 
leaving behind him the tomb, void of sculpture, except the angels and t"he 




192 BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

tabernacles of the gallery. The monument was completed, in 1466-1470, 
by his successor, Antoine le Moiturier, of Avignon. 

The revolutionary mob destroyed both monuments; but they were pieced 
together again and restored; and there they stand, for all time let us hope, 
worthily housed in that magnificent Salle des Gardes. There is nothing in 
all Burgundy that so conveys, in one coup d'oeil, the magnificence of the 
Valois Dukes. 

Philippe le Hardi, clothed in a white robe and a blue mantle lined with 
ermine, lies, with folded hands, upon a slab of black marble. Two angels 
with outspread wings hold the helmet over his cushioned head, and his feet 
rest upon a lion's back. The form and face are realistically done, even to 
the veins on the hands. But, so far, all is conventional, traditional. It is 
when we look at the white-robed figures beneath the sculptured tabernacles 
of the gallery, that we recognise a new motif, dramatic realism, in the monu- 
mental art of the period. Claus Sluter and his nephew had developed the 
individuality of portraiture that made the success of the "Puits de Mo'ise." 
Their great patron Duke was dead; and all Dijon had followed weeping in 
his funeral procession. Claus reproduced that procession, perpetuated it in 
living stone. They are all there — the high functionaries, the praying monks, 
the plebeian, wiping his nose on his fingers, all done with a felicity and tru:h 
unequalled in any sculpture that has come down to us. Here is a hooded 
mourner comforted by a priest with finger on text, there an obstinate one 
receiving exhortation; and an old bourgeois, chin in hand, pondering the way 
of life. The attitudes alone are so significant that, though the face be 
hidden, you do not wish to look beneath the cowl. Resignation, despair, 
faith, argument; all are expressed in pose; the figures behind the pillars are 
treated with as much sincerity as those which are fully seen.* Look up 
from them to the figure above their heads, and you will see at once that, 
while the angels have only a decorative function, the fleurants are both 
decorative and dramatic. 

And what of Jean San Peur's tomb, with which young Claus had dreamed 
of outdoing his uncle ? A glance will show that, as a whole, it is greatly 
inferior to that of the father. The recumbent figure and the decorative 
angels are equally well done; are, perhaps, even superior in the matter of 

*The figures have not been restored in their original order, which is regrettable, as 
some of the processional effect is thereby lost. 



u • coRncR <y Tr«. TDr» or pwi >ppe tt hardj 



194 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



draperies, which were not Sluter's strong point; but the alabaster gallery 
lacks the harmonious simplicity of the earlier monument : the detail has been 
over-elaborated in the fashion of the period, and in a not unnatural though 
ineffectual attempt to improve upon a chef-d'oeuvre. The pleurants directly 
imitative of those of Philip's tomb, are, without exception, less natural, less 
restrained, and less felicitous. Yet, despite all these faults, the monument 
remains a not unworthy companion of its predecessor. 

Would we could say that Jean sans Peur himself was equally worthy of 
the first Valois Duke. In that case the whole course of French history 
might have been different and happier. 

But the fact is that the Dukes' characters, ethically considered, are of the 
same relative merit as are their tombs. The contrast between the features 
of father and son is most striking. Philip has an open, almost handsome 

face, with a noble, 
though very Jewish, 
nose, and a generous 
mouth revealing 
kindliness and good in- 
tentions. Jean's head, 
on the contrary, is ill- 
proportioned, flatter, 
with a weaker chin, 
and meaner nose. 
The cheek-bones are 
too prominent, and the 
crafty mouth and eye, 
and "disinheriting" ex- 
pression, bid the 
student of physiog- 
nomy beware. 

Yet, stained though 
he was by one bloody 
crime, we shall judge 
wrongly if we con- 
ceive as wholly bad this little chetif, crafty, inarticulate, careful man, who, 
in days of unbridled luxury, dared to be seen, like Louis XL, in mended 




THE CITY OF THE DUKES 195 

clothes, and never risked large sums at play.f He was a working 
prince — brave, intelligent, interested; with his finger always upon the pulse 
of public opinion. A hardy campaigner, he knew how to endure patiently 
hunger and thirst, heat and cold, rains and winds; and he possessed the gift, 
inestimably valuable in those days, of winning and holding the loyal devotion 
of his immediate friends and servants.* 

Looking at him, lying there robed, upon royal marble, one's mind returns 
to the foul murder that for thirty years held France in misery, and drenched 
her fair fields in blood — a deed that robbed the doer of all happiness, and 
darkened the after years of his life with the shadow of impending death, 
until a revenge, not less cowardly in conception, nor less pregnant with 
calamity, loosed again civil war upon France, and humbled the distracted 
country beneath a foreign dominion 

For some considerable time before the murder, hatred, bitter though con- 
cealed, had existed between Jean sans Peur and Louis, Due d'Orleans, the 
brother of King Charles VI. Louis, himself a poet, was a pretty, wayward, 
loose-living, irresponsible, and charming personality, gifted uith that fantastic 
grace of the early renaissance that is so pleasing in his son, Charles d'Orleans, 
the singer of Blois. Louis, naturally, was beloved of all ladies, and in spite 
of his faults — if not because of them, since they were gracious ones — was 
liked, even by the priests whom he cajoled, and by the commoners whom be 
oppressed. 

The spirited youngster, with an eye upon his Burgundian rival, had taken 
for his device a knotty cudgel and the words " Je I'envie " (I defy). Jean 
sans Peur, knowing well at whom that shaft was aimed, retorted by adopting 
for himself a plane, with the motto, "Je le Tiens" (I hold it), thereby 
intimating his intention of planing down that cudgel. None guessed how 
soon he would do so. 

Though each prince wore his device openly, and displayed it broadcast on 
robe, banner, and pennon, they were brought together, and there was sworn 
reconciliation between the pair. On the 20th November, 1407, they heard 

tShakespeare makes him articulate enough in Henry V., Act V., scene 2_ His 
economies were, perhaps, begotten of his father's prodigalities, who bequeathed 
only debts and a dukedom. 

*Kleincausz "Histoire de la Bourgogne," p. 142. Also De Barante, Tome IV., 

p. 466. 



196 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

mass, and took the sacrament side by side. Two days later the princes 
attended a great dinner given by the Due de Berri. After the feast they 
embraced, drank to each other, and again swore friendship. 

The Queen, who was lodging at the time in a little hotel in the old Rue 
du Temple, near the Porte Barbette, had recently given birth to a still-born 
child. On November 23rd, the duke of Orleans, always on the best of 
terms with his sister-in-law — popular rumour, indeed, made her his mistress — 
came to offer his condolences, and supped with her in that house. The gay 
meal was interrupted by the advent of a suborned valet de chambre of the 
king, summoning the duke immediately to the royal presence. 

"II a hate de vous parler," said the messenger, "pour chose qui touche 
grandement a vous et a lui."* 

The Duke, nothing doubting, ordered his mule to be brought without 
delay, and, though he had six hundred armed men in Paris, set out, un- 
accompanied, except by two squires, mounted upon the same horse, and four 
or five valets on foot carrying torches. It was about eight o'clock in the 
evening; the night was overcast (assez brun), and the street deserted. The 
Duke, dressed in a simple costume of black damask, rode slowly down the 
old Rue du Temple, singing, and playing with his glove. As he was pass- 
ing before the house of the Marechal de Rieux, no more than a hundred paces 
distant from the Queen's apartments, a company of about twenty armed men, 
in ambuscade behind a house called L'Image Notre Dame, broke out upon 
the little party. The horse on which were the two squires, startled by the 
noise, took fright, and galloped away down the street. With cries of "A 
mort! a mort!" the assassins fell upon the Duke, and one of them struck 
him a blow with an axe that cut off his hand. 

"What is this?" cried Louis. "Who are all these? I am the Due 
d'Orl^ans." 

"Tis you whom we want " (C'est ce que nous demandons) replied the 
assailants. In a moment, a storm of blows, from sword, axe, and spiked club, 
brought him down from his mule. He rose upon his knees, but, before he 
could recover himself, his head was split open, and his brains were streaming 
over the pavement. "And they turned him over and over, and so terribly 
hammered him that he was soon dead and piteously slain." A young page, 
who sought to defend his master, was likewise struck down: another. 



^"He is eager to speak with you on a matter that touches closely both you and him." 



198 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

grievously wounded, managed to escape into a little shop in the Rue des 
Rosiers. 

At that very hour, Jaquette, the wife of a poor cobbler, was in her room, 
high above the street, awaiting her husband's return. While taking in a 
garment that had been hanging out of the window to dry, she saw a noble- 
man pass by on horseback, and, a moment after, while putting her child to 
bed, she heard the shouts of " A mort! a mort!" She ran to the window 
with her child in her arms, and, throwing open the casement cried, "Au 
meurtre, au meurtre ! " " Taisez-vous mauvaise femme ! " cried one who 
noticed her, and arrows rattled upon the wall of the house. A moment 
later, all was over. A big man in a red chaperon drawn down over his eyes, 
who seemed to be the leader, shouted, "Put out all lights, and let us be off; 
he is dead!" Some sprang on to their horses which were in waiting at the 
gates of the Maison Notre Dame, and with a last blow or two at the lifeless 
body of the Duke, they made off, mounted and on foot, crying, "Au feu ! 
au feu!" in response to the cries of "murder" raised by some of the Duke's 
men who had come upon the scene. 

The assassins had set fire to the Maison Notre Dame. As they fled, they 
threw down behind them iron traps to prevent pursuit, and coerced terrified 
shop-keepers into extinguishing the lights in the shops along their route. 
The Duke's men found their master in a pitiable plight. The skull lay open 
in two places, the left hand was cut off, and the right arm was almost 
severed. Beside the dead Duke, the young German page, Jacob, lay gasp- 
ing out his life. 

" Ah ! mon maitre, ah ! mon maitre ! " II se complaignoit moult fort, 
come s'il vouloit mourir.* 

When it was known that the murdered body of young Louis of Orleans 
was lying in the Hotel de Rieux, all Paris was in consternation. Death 
veiled his faults from the people. They could see only his virtues. A 
prince so gallant and debonair, to die so young! the pity of it! Women 
and men, noble and base-born, wept for him, so foully slain. Dit not even 
his great rival of Burgundy echo their grief ? 

"Never" was he heard to say, "was more wicked nor traitorous murder 
committed nor executed in his kingdom." At the solemn funeral in the 

*Michelet. 
*For a contemporary account of the murder, see Monstrelet. 



THE CITY OF THE DUKES 



199 



Church of the C^lestins, Jean sans Peur was one of those who bore the pall. \ 
He was to bear that pall for the remainder of his life.+ Of hundreds who 
watched him there, clothed in deep mourning, and weeping bitterly,* how 
many guessed the truth. Yet the truth was 
not long concealed. When the hue and cry 
was raised, it soon became known that the 
assassins had fled towards Rue Mauconseil, 
where was the Palace of the Duke of Bur- 
gundy; and the Provost of Paris suggested 
that he could soon lay hands on his men, were 
he permitted to search the hotels of the 
Princes. Then the Duke of Burgundy's 
countenance was observed to pale. Draw- 
ing aside the Duke of Berri and the King of 
Sicily, he whispered to them : " 'Twas I, the 
Devil tempted me." They shrank from him; 
the Duke of Berri burst into tears. " I have 
lost both my nephews," he murmured. 

A few hours later the scene was changed. 
Pride had conquered remorse in the heart of 
Jean sans Peur. Denied access to the Coun- 
cil, the murderer mounted horse, and galloped 
ventre a terre, into Flanders, there to steel his 
conscience against a deed which was to darken 
his shortened days with the shadow of impend- 
death, and for thirty years was to drench the 
fields of France in the blood of her best. 

The absent Duke entrusted to a certain learned doctor of Theology, Jean 
Petit, the duty of whitewashing his master — a task less formidable than it 
sounds to those unversed in the casuistry of the schools of that day. To do 
Petit justice, he seems to have acquitted himself as well as the obvious weak- 




tThe others were the King of Sicily and the Dukes of Bourbon and Berri. 

+Michelet. 
•There is no reason to suppose that the tears were hypocritical. Such display of 
emotion was in the spirit of the times ; and certainly no man had better cause 
than its author to regret the murder. 



200 



BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



ness of his case would permit. Starting from the principal that it is "licit 
and meritorious to slay a tyrant traitorous and disloyal to his king and 
sovereign lord," he proceeded to show, to his own satisfaction, that the 
murder of the "criminal" Duke of Orleans "was perpetrated for the very 
great good of the king's person, and that of his children and all the kingdom," 
and held that the king should not only be pleased thereat, but should pardon 
the Seigneur de Bourgogne, "and remunerate him in every way, that is lo 
say in love, honour, and riches, following the example of remunerations made 
to Monseigneur Michael the Archangel and the valiant man Phineas." 

This extraordinary document, which, to the modern mind, is a jumble of 
unconscious humour and deliberate blasphemy, aroused, not un-naturally, 
"much murmuring within the town of Paris." The quarrel was taken up 
far and wide, and soon all France was divided into two camps, the Arma- 
gnacs,* known by the white scarf, and the Burgundians, whose badge was 
the Cross of St. Andrew. 

We have no space in which to follow here the varying fortunes of the two 
parties. For long years, in town and country, they fought it out; the 
children of the villages with fists, feet, stones, and sticks; their elders in the 
towns, with sword, dagger, and club. In the autumn of 141 8 the Burgun- 
dians effected an entry into Paris, and the 
excited mob commenced an indiscriminate 
slaughter of their opponents. Two presidents 
dents of parliament, magistrates, bishops, even, 
fell. Sixteen hundred persons perished in a 
day. They were slain in the prisons, they 
were slain in the street. " Did you see your 
enemy passing on the other side of the way, 
you had but to cry "A I'Armagnac " and he 
was dead." A woman, about to become a 
mother, was ripped open; within her dead 
body, as she lay in the street, the child could 
be seen to move. "Vois done," said the canaille, "this little dog still stirs." 
But none durst take the child. No Burgundian priest would baptise a little 
Armagnac. Why should he save an enemy's brat from damnation ? 

"The children played with the corpses in the streets. The body of the 




* After Bernard d' Armagnac, brother-in-law of the young Duke of Orleans. 



THE CITY OF THE DUKES 201 

Constable and others lay for three days in the palace, a butt for the jests of 
the passers by. Some of them remembered to take a strip of skin from his 
back, so that he, too, might wear in death, the white emblem of the living 
Armagnacs." At last the stench forced them to throw all the debris into 
the tomberaux; thence, without priest or prayer, into an open ditch in the 
pig-market.* 

These closing years of the reign of the mad king,t from 1418 and on to 
1425, were the darkest in all the history of France. War, famine, pesti- 
lence, three grim spectres, stalked over the land. Every evening a starving 
crowd surged round the bake-houses of Paris. In all the town were heard 
the piteous lamentations of little children crying: "Je meurs de faim!" 
Upon a dung-heap, thirty boys and girls died of hunger and cold. The dog- 
knacker was followed by the poor, who, as he slew, devoured all, " chair et 
trippes."+ Nor were things better without the town. The fields, deserted 
by their normal labourers, were re-peopled with wolves, that, scouring the 
country in great packs, grew fat upon the corpses they scratched up. The 
people lived only in the woods and the fortresses; the towns teemed with 
men at arms; all culture was abandoned, except around the ramparts, within 
sight of the sentry upon his tower. When the enemy appeared upon the 
horizon, the sound of the tocsin moved man and beast, by a common instinct, 
to seek shelter within the walls. § Hunger made brigands of all. 

France was receiving at the hand of God full measure for all her sins. 
The dead man's pall, that Jean sans Peur had been bearing through twelve 
wretched years of misery and blood, were soon to cover his own mangled 
body. Murder, as of old, was to breed murder. He who had taken the 
sword, was to perish by it. 

Several attempts, more or less futile, had been made to patch up a recon- 
ciliation between the Duke of Burgundy and the Orleanist Dauphin, a boy of 
sixteen years. In the autumn of the year 141 9, a meeting was arranged to 
be held in a long, wooden gallery, specially erected on the bridge of Monte- 
reau, at the junction of the Seine and the Yonne. Burgundy's fortunes at 

*Michelet, Tome VI., pp. 55, 56. 

tCharles VI, died in 1422, deeply mourned by the common people. "Ah ! tihs cher 

prince, jamais nous n'en aurons un si bon." Journal du Bourgeois. 

JMichelet, Tome VI., p. 114, "Flesh and entrails." 

§Barante, Tome V., p. 204. 



202 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

this time were at a low ebb, and the Dauphin's principal counsellors thought 
the time had come to deal their enemy a crushing blow. The rumour of 
their intention spread, and Jean was warned many times of his danger; but 
he made light of it. In vain his servants assured him that a plot was laid, 
that he was going to his death. He would not listen. At the last moment, 
however, he seems to have felt some compunction; for he delayed his coming 
so long that Tanneguy du Chatel was sent to fetch him. The duke hesi- 
tated no more. "This is he in whom I trust," said he, and he laid his hand 
upon du Chatel's shoulder. 

The accounts of the final scene differ materially; the exact truth will prob- 
ably never be known. On coming into the Dauphin's presence, the Duke 
removed his velvet cap, and kneeling, made a profound obeisance. Hardly 
had he risen to his feet when a confused mel^e arose, and the young Dauphin 
was led off to the Castle of Montereau. Meanwhile the assassins had got to 
work. The first blow passed down the right side of the Duke's face, and 
cut off the hand with which he sought to ward off the stroke. The second 
pierced his heart, when, " with a sigh and a movement of the loins," 
he fell. The abandoned body was buried by the cur^ of Montereau in the 
town cemetery, where it was found, several weeks after, clothed only in 
hose, doublet, and breeches. "A piteous thing to see, and no man there 
could refrain from weeping."* 

Thus the Duke of Orleans was avenged; but the act, as might have been 
expected, only raised the fallen fortunes of the party it was intended finally 
to destroy. 

As it had been with his victim, so, in turn, it was with Jean. Death 
expiated the murder, and veiled the murderer's faults. The many, who had 
been luke-warm for Burgundy, returned to their allegiance again. 




"^Kleinclausz, p. 146. 



THE CITZ OF THE DUKES 





CHAPTER XIV 



After this long historical digression, it is quite time that we returned to 
the Salle des Gardes, where there are many good things to be seen beside the 
tombs of the Dukes. Not the least interesting are the ducal portraits, all 
very Jewish, and bearing a strong family likeness. In the picture gallery 
adjoining is a portrait of Charles le T^m6raire, by Van Hemerren, done, it is 
said, shortly before his death at Nancy. Here is Valois madness, indeed; 
shown in the wildly staring eyes, the furrowed brow, the pursed lips, the 
poised head, the spread hands, and straying fingers — a mind and body in 
extreme of tension. What brought the last of the Valois Dukes to such a 
pass ? Readers who do not know will discover, when we come to talk of — 
the Post Office! 

Upon the many other things worth seeing in that Salle des Gardes, I have 
no time to dwell; also the reader will find them catalogued in any guide. 
But one or two I will mention. The most striking of all, perhaps, is the 
magnificent chimney-piece, built in 1504, after the great fire, which, in 1502, 
destroyed all the decorations and the original ceiling of the chamber. On 
the walls are two gorgeous altar-pieces in wood-gilt, done by a Flemish artist, 
Jacques de Baerze, to the order of Philippe le Bon, in 1391. The subjects of 
one are : The Execution of John the Baptist, The Martyrdom of St. 



204 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



Catherine; and the Temptation of St. Anthony. Those of the other 
include the Adoration of the Magi, Calvary, and the Entombment. All the 
figures, especially the Roman soldiery, in very mediaeval clothing, playing 
dice for Christ's vesture at the foot of the Cross, and the weeping relatives, 
are treated w^ith the usual vivacity and realism of the Burgundian school; the 
whole is decorated with flamboyant Gothic detail of richness unrivalled, so 
far as I am aware, by any similar work, excepting, possibly, the famous 
ratable at the Eglise de Brou. The painting and gilding of the volets is by 
Melchoir Broederlam, court painter to Philippe le Hardi. 

There are also two charming sixteenth century renaissance doors, from the 
Palais de Justice, carved with the most perfect arabesques, and a torso by 
Hugues Sambin, the famous architect who built the curious facade of the 
Eglise St. Michel. The guide will point out to you, in the centre cabinets, 

St. Bernard's Cup, the cross of his 
friend St. Robert, who received him 
when he first came to Citeaux, and 
other good relics, including a cast of 
a skull, said to be that of Jean sans 
Peur, with a slit in it — the slit 
through which the English entered 
France, as our guide sagely re- 
marked. The epigram earned for 
him the respect due to an homme 
instruit, until he proffered the infor- 
mation that the Eglise Notre Dame 
is not a thirteenth century church ! 

If you want to get an idea of Dijon 
in mediaeval times, study the six- 
teenth century tapestry in this salle. 
It shows a walled city with many 
churches, most of which have now 
disappeared. Indeed, with the excep- 
tion of the Tour du Logis du Roi, or 
Tour de la Terrasse, beneath which 
you are standing at the moment, very few of the buildings are easily recognis- 
able. The subject represents the seige of the City by the Swiss. The black 







THE CITY OF THE DUKES 205 

virgin, now, I believe, in the Eglise Notre Dame, has been borne out to 
assist in the relief of the City, and the mayor of the town is in negotiation 
with the enemy. They covenanted to raise the seige for a specified sum; 
but were foolish enough to depart without the cash, which, consequently 
was never paid. 

The remainder of the mus^e installed in the Palace has little that is of 
iirst-rate interest, except, the ducal kitchen, some good Burgundian altar- 
pieces, and a large collection of modern statues, chiefly by the Burgundian 
Rude (i 784-1 855).* Among hundreds of inferior pictures, I was most 
interested in three paintings of Dijon Castle, in salle 8, by G. P. H. Jeanniot. 
Dijon Castle does not now exist. If the reader can endure more history, I 
will tell him the reason why. 

If you will walk down the Rue de la Libert^, in this town, and turn, two 
hundred yards or so below the arch, along one of the narrow streets to the 
left, you will emerge on to a large place ^ in the centre of which stands a 
great, white building. That white building, the Post Office, occupies the 
site of the Castle, which, until a few years ago, stood as a memento of the 
end of the Valois Dukes. Dijon, however, now grown to be a great and 
prosperous city, a centre of the wine trade, is more concerned with the 
development of her industries than with her historical monuments; conse- 
quently, when a new Post Office was needed, the authorities came to the 
conclusion that a castle so centrally situate must go.f It went: but its 
memories remain. Its story is that of the final struggle between Burgundy 
and France, between Charles le Temeraire and Louis XL, respective 
champions of the old order and the new.f 

These rivals were not well matched. It was the unequal combat of the 
matador against the bull. Charles, though a prince of great charm and 
ability, endowed with the dual qualities of scholar and general, was still but 
a man of his time. If he possessed the virtues of the middle ages — courage, 
daring, resolution, — he shared also its defects — pride, obstinacy, short- 
sightedness, boundless ambition, and a touch, perhaps, of the hereditary in- 
sanity of the House of Valois. Dreams of more than feudal glory, of 

*I should add that there is a good replica of the Puits de Moise, which gives you 

an opportunity to study that work at leisure. 
+The demolition was begun in 1870, to give work to the unemployed at the time 

of the war. 
O 



2o6 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

empire, even, dazzled him. His father had been "Philip the Good"; the son 
should be Alexander the Great. "Si grand et si puissant qu'il put etre con- 
ducteur et meneur des autres." He would re-establish in greater glory, with 
wider bounds, the ancient Kingdom of Burgundy. And France! He 
reckoned without France. It was not within the power of this man to 
fathom nor to play move for move against such an opponent as Louis. He 
had held the king in his grasp once,* and had let him go. The opportunity 
would never recur. 

Patient, untiring Louis, touched, just as his rival was, with insanity, 
endowed with more than the common cunning of his type, possessed a mind 
as modern, almost, in essentials, as was that of Bacon half a century later. 
He foresaw clearly enough the coming death of feudalism, and, while wait- 
ing wolf-like, to prey upon the corpse, he bent his mind to the wider con- 
structive processes of a subtler, more Machiavelian policy. 

The reigning princes of Europe were old; Louis, noting the fact, realized 
that he had only to wait, leaving the active part to his ally. Death, a power 
as certain as God's, and one, moreover, that he need not cajole with prayers, 
nor bribe with silver balustrades. He waited, while the black angel shook 
the tree; then he gathered the plums as they fell : and France was his. 

King Charles, meanwhile — king in all but name — was burning to fight 
all comers. He flung himself first upon the Swiss, who were in league 
against him. He was defeated at Grandson, and again at Morat, on the 22nd 
June, 1476, losing many men and much spoil, including his great diamond, 
one of the largest in Christendom. f He lost heart, too, and retired into 
solitude, letting his beard grow, and dreaming of revenge. There was to be 
no revenge for him. 

On the 22nd October, he commenced the seige of Nancy, which he 
prosecuted with quiet energy, until, in the following January, he heard that 
the Swiss were advancing against him to the relief of the town. The 
doomed Duke turned to meet them, and his fate. His army, wearied by 
much campaigning, was completely routed. The following day Duke 
Charles could not be found; various rumours were current in the town 
concerning him. 

He was dead; he was not dead. "Beware," said the timid ones, " lest 

* At Peronne. 
tKleinclauz " Histoire de la Bourgogne." 



THE CITY OF THE DUKES 207 

you behave otherwise than if he were yet alive, for his vengeance will be 
terrible on his return." On 6th January there was brought to Duke Ren^, 
a young page, named Jean Baptiste Colonna, who said he had seen his 
master fall, and could find the place. The next day they recommenced 
their search for the body. The page led them to a pond called the Etang 
de St. Jean, distant about three culverin shots from the town. There, half- 
buried in the mud-banks of a little stream, near a chapel, lay a dozen 
despoiled corpses. "They commenced to search all the dead; all were 
naked and frozen, scarcely could one know them; the page, passing here 
and there, found many mighty ones, and great and small, white as snow. 
And all turned them over. 'Alas!' said he, 'Here is my good master.' "* 

Others gathered round. As they lifted the head from the ice to which 
it had frozen, the skin was torn from the face. Already the wolves and 
dogs had been at work upon the other cheek; moreover a great wound had 
split the head from the ear to the mouth, f 

In such condition the corpse was not easily recognisable, but Olivier de 
la Marche and others identified it by the teeth and the nails, and by certain 
marks, such as the scar of the wound received at Montlheri. When they 
had washed the body in warm water and wine, it was easily recognised by 
all. In addition to the wound in the head, there were two others, one 
through the thighs, and another below the loins. The dead Duke was 
borne into the town, and placed in a velvet bed beneath a canopy of black 
satin. The corpse was clothed in a camisole of white satin, and covered 
with a crimson mantle of the same material. A Ducal crown was laid on 
the head, scarlet shoes and golden spurs upon the feet. " The said Duke 
being honourably clothed, he was white as snow; he was small and well- 
limbed; on a table, well wrapped up in white sheets, upon a silk pillow, on the 
head a red cap set, the hands joined, the cross and holy water beside him; 
all who would might see him, none were turned away; some prayed God 
for him, and others not." The victorious Rene, Duke of Lorraine, came 
to throw holy water upon the body of the unhappy prince. He took the 
hand beneath the coverlet; tears came into his eyes. " Ah ! dear cousin," 
said he, " may God receive your soul, you have brought on us many an 

*De Barante states that the body was found by a washerwoman, who was attracted 
by the sparkle of a ring on the Duke's finger. I have followed Michelet. 
tOlivier de Marche " Memoires." 



2o8 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

ill and many a sorrow." Then he kissed the hand, fell upon his knees, 
and remained for a quarter of an hour in prayer. + 

Louis XL made no attempt to conceal his rejoicing over the tragedy of 
Nancy. A silver balustrade, vv^eighing 6,776 marks, erected around the 
tomb of St. Martin de Tours, testified his gratitude to the heavenly powers, 
who had removed the rival of the most Christian King. Then, with 
great energy, he proceeded to support his claim to Burgundy. Towns were 
occupied; rebels and seditious persons were executed and proscribed, and a 
castle was erected at the gates of Beaune, in addition to that at Dijon. 
Both were occupied by royal garrisons responsible for the subjection of the 
country. 

On July 31st, 1479, the king made his solemn entry into Dijon. " The 
mayor, the echevins, the procureurs, clothed in scarlet robes, walked before 
him, as they had formerly walked before the Dukes; the clergy in their 
chapes bore the holy relics. Louis proceeded first to the Abbey of St. 
B^nigne, where the Dijonnais swore fealty to him, as to their natural lord, 
and prayed him to hold them in his good grace; then, preceded by trumpets, 
tambourines, and minstrels, he went to lodge at the Ducal Palace. Every- 
where they covered with lime the arms of Burgundy, broke the windows of 
the Chambre Des Comtes which bore that device, and replaced it by that of 
the King with the cord of St. Michael and the arms of the Dauphin. "§ 

So ended the power of Burgundy. From the days of Philippe le Hardi, 
onwards, there had arisen in the minds of those proud dukes — who were 
more than dukes — a dream of a new kingdom that should exceed in extent 
and in dominion the old Burgundy of their fathers — a kingdom, an empire, 
perhaps, freed for ever from the hated rivalry of the Fleur-de-lys. But 
that dream was not to be realised. All the conditions, geographical, 
historical, psychological,were against them; nor had the dukes themselves, 
for all their abilities, the constructive minds necessary for the accomplish- 
ment of such a task. Louis, on the other hand, as we have seen, possessed 
such a mind; and destiny and death, as though consciously realizing the fact, 
worked for him. Burgundy was no more than the greatest of the fruits that 
fell into his lap. 

Nevertheless, we shall surely do well to remember these years, and these 

tDe Barante, Tome XI ; pp. 156-158. 
§Kleinclausz. 




STREET IN DIJON 



Pacini; pagf. 208 J 



THE CITY OF THE DUKES 209 

Dukes, that went to the making of France. Dijon, it appears, proud of 
her mustard, and of her wine-begotten prosperity, does not care to remem- 
ber. She has pulled down the unworthy memento of subjection. Truly 
she has her reward. She has the best Post Office in the Duchy. 



Now, after all this history, what of Dijon as it is to-day? Well, 
modern Dijon, despite the ever-to-be-deplored demolition rf the Castle, 
remains one of the most individual and fascinating of French towns — a 
cheerful, lively, bustling little city, full of fine buildings, and unexpected 
architectural surprises of the Renaissance and earlier times. For its size, 
I know no town in France in which past and present have blended more 
happily. Wherever you walk, in the heart of the town, the next corner 
has something fascinating to show. 

The building which first calls for attention is the Cathedral of St. 
Benigne. Of the early, circular, Romanesque church, which dated from 
the eleventh century, and was probably imitated from the Holy Sepulchre, 
nothing now remains but the crypt. The primitive, carved pillars are the 
oldest of their kind in Burgundy, and mark the origin of an art of sculpture, 
that, as we have already seen, was to go far. In this rude church was 
buried St. Benigne, the Christian martyr of the third century; here, too, 
the pious Alethe, St. Bernard's mother, was laid, probably in the years iiio; 
and here, many a time, Bernard himself came down from his father's castle 
at Fontaine, to pray, in those early days when his spirit was torn between the 
claims of cloister and the world. The cathedral, above ground, though 
historically interesting, as the scene of the inaugural ceremonies of the great 
Dukes, and the solemn merger of the duchy into the kingdom of France, is 
not architecturally of first-rate interest. Gothic art was not always well 
inspired in Burgundy during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; 
and St. Benigne is no exception to the rule. The facade is very bold, for 
a church of cathedral rank; the west window is weak and shallow, and the 
parvis mean and uninteresting. Nor is the interior successful. The 
triforium, one of the feeblest I know, is suggestive of a cardboard model, and 
the simplicity of the nave has been broken by a series of restless yearning 
statues, that, poised upon the abaci of the capitals, grimace at one another 
across the nave. The thirteenth-century choir is better; though spoiled 



2IO BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

architecturally by bare spaces of wall between the triforium and the sills of 
the clerestory. The exterior, however, especially as seen from the east-end, 
is impressive, and the " Snake-skin " tiling, though rather trying at first, is 
rich and effective, when the eye has become accustomed to the shock. 

Opposite to St. Benigne is a typical Burgundian church of the twelfth 
century, with a triple porch and narthex, an octagonal tower, and a beautiful 
Romanesque south doorway. It is now a secular building, as are several 
other old churches of Dijon. You may look, as I did, through a decorated 
window of St. Etienne, and see a man changing his shirt! 

Another church of considerable interest, from the architectural point of 
view, is St. Michel. I am not referring to the interior, which is, on the 
whole, an ineffective example of late Gothic, with clumsy vaulting ribs, and 
heavy, square, nave piers, rounded off by vaulting shafts at the angles — but 
to the facjade, one of the best examples I know of Gothic design worked out 
in Renaissance detail, with four classical orders superposed, f Hugues 
Sambin, the architect, or reputed architect — he who did those beautiful doors 
for the Palace de Justice, that we have seen in the Musee — has made so 
harmonious a compromise of the two styles, that I wonder he has not found 
more imitators. The fact that others dared not follow emphasises the 
difficulty of the task. 

But the most interesting, by far, of all the churches of Dijon, is Notre 
Dame, that, within hail of the Palace, and dedicated to Our Lady, enjoyed 
the special patronage of the Dukes. It was here that, after the great 
tournament at the arbre Charlemagne, in the plain south of Dijon, to be 
spoken of presently, the competing knights came to hang up their shields, 
and to render thanks to their preserver. Here, too, in 1453, after long 
imprisonment in the east, came Philippe Pot, whom also we shall meet again, 
barefooted, amidst a brilliant assemblage, to fulfil his vows to Notre Dame 
de Bon Espoir. 

Notre Dame is a purely Burgundian Gothic church, of the thirteenth 
century. The interior, with its typical stiff leaf capitals, and pointed arches, 
is not very remarkable. The arcade round the choir is good; but the square 
blocks above the abaci, that take the vaulting shafts, are clumsy, and the 
rose windows without tracery, in the transept, are not effective. As with 
St. Michel, it is the exterior design that makes the church so remarkable 
from an architectural point of view. The triple porch — if its carvings were 
tThe classical orders are five : Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, Tuscan, Composite. 




INDOOR Of Trtt- £qUS£ if nictig.L • T>IJOt^. 



212 



BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



as good as those above — must have been very charming before the revolu- 
tionary gentlemen set to vi^ork vi^ith hammer and axe upon tympanum and 
arch. Even novi^ it is pleasing. Indeed, the west front, as seen from the 

Rue des Forges, though, perhaps, a 
little stiff, is most striking, especially 
vi^hen the bright sun of Burgundy is 
picking out in Vv^arm light and pitchy 
shadow the triple row of strange eager 
faces, that, craning their necks out 
over the street, gaze down upon the 
passers-by. These giotesque beasts, 
and the friezes in which they dwell, are 
among the best examples of Burgundian 
sculpture to be seen anywhere. They 
have all the vigour, individuality, and 
vivacity that are characteristic of the 
Province. The facade, as a whole, 
with its double arcade, between the 
friezes, surmounting the triple porch, 
is one of the most original in France, 
and would be much more effective than 
it is, could it be better seen. The 
tower, too, and the flanking turrets, 
are boldly designed, and relieved with 
little sculptures, grinning suns and 
grimacing heads, on the corbels and 
the springings, that suggest an art 
lively and alert compared with the conventional dulness of St. B6nigne. 
The sense of realism is increased by the many pigeons — not of stone — who 
glide all day over monsters' backs, and coo into old monks' ears. 

The Jacquemart clock on the tower was brought to Dijon by Philippe le 
Hardi, after the sack of Courtrai, in 1383. Froissart, charmed with it, 
declared it to be " ouvrage le plus beau qu'on put trouver de^a ni dela la 
men" Philip may have thought so, too; since he chose it for his trophy. 

Nearly every street in this central part of old Dijon, around the palace of 
the Dukes, has many good things. Late Gothic buildings meet you at 




THE CITY OF THE DUKES 



213 




every turn, and in no town of France that I know, except, perhaps, Toulouse, 
will you find better Renaissance houses. The fronts of the Maison Milsand 
and the Maison des Caryatides, are both charming of their kind; and so is 
the courtyard of the Maison Richard, or Hotel des Ambassadeurs, with a 
magnificent mediaeval staircase, 
and a fifteenth century gallery of 
perpendicular woodwork. Behind 
Notre Dame is the old Hotel 
Vogu^, with one of the fine snake- 
skin roofs that are a feature of 
Dijon. 

But of all the quiet haunts in 
the city, the best are the little 
garden without, and the courtyard 
within, the Palace of the Dukes. 
Looking up through green boughs 
at the beautiful windows of the 

Salle des Gardes and the Tour de la Terrasse, or, from a post upon the 
inner flag-stones, peering into the dark shadows of the lovely Renaissance 
staircase that mounts by the Tour de Bar,* you may go back again into the 
days when Dijon was more famous, more alive, than mustard and ginger- 
bread can ever make it. 

The mention of mustard and gingerbread, reminds me that here, opposite 
to the staircase, is the kitchen, where, between eight great furnaces, two in 
each wall, below a converging shaft, fashioned to carry the fumes upward to 
the blue sky, the Duke's chef superintended a small army of perspiring cooks 
and scullions. 

My wife's brains were busy with such dreams, as she sat in that courtyard 
sketching the well, the staircase, and little Marie Bon, who, for two sous, 
and the privilege of being allowed to tell about her uncle, also a painter — 
he worked on back doors — allowed herself to be drawn. And while the 
picture grew, tiresome boys would come up and jostle each other, and make 
remarks — usually, however, of a complimentary nature. 

*The Tour de Bar was named after Ren^e of Anjou (Duke of Bar), known as good 
king Ren6e, who was imprisoned there after the battle of Buligneville in 1431, 
the year in which Joan of Arc was burned. 



THE CITY OF THE DUKES 



215 



" Ma foi, c'est 6patant, 9a!" " C'est tres chic — beaucoup mieux qu'une 
photographic." 

Gallant young men, too, would come, and say boldly, as though prepared 
to step into the breach, " Madame, n'a pas de cavalier aujourdhui ! " And 
diffident old ladies, shy, but un- 
able to restrain their curiosity, 
would come up and say, " Est-ce 
qu'on est permis de regarder un 
peu, Madame?" And my wife 
would smile and reply, "Mais 
GUI, certainement." For towards 
good and diffident old ladies her 
heart is as soft as it is adamantine 
towards small and cheeky urchins. 

One other building in Dijon I 
will mention — the Palais de Jus- 
tice, which has a beautiful Renais- 
sance facade, with a high gable in 
the Flemish style, and a domed 

Corinthian porch. The threatening darkness of the stone, and the grim, 
lurid, purplish colours it takes in certain lights, harmonise well with our 
memories of deeds done in that Salle des Pas Perdus, and the torture chamber 
of the prisons within. This Palace was also the Parliament House of the 
Valois Dukes. 




But we, who pass our days in London, soon weary of other cities, even 
though they be ancient and French; besides, we wanted to see something of 
the environs of Dijon; so a fine afternoon found us cycling along the five 
kilometres of flat yet attractive road that leads by the Canal de Bourgogne 
to Plombieres, in the valley of the Ouche. There was music all the way; 
the breeze that whispered to the " paint-brush " poplars, and rustled in the 
reeds and grasses of the bank; the song of the grasshoppers, the " sound of 
waters shaken " where they curled foaming through the lock gates. We 
had beauty with us, too; all the mature beauty of a bright autumn day, js 
we glided beside the still water, between waving grasses and lichen-gilded 
trunks. On our left were golden vineyards, and, beneath them, rose- 



2i6 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

embowered cottages and jagged quarries where brawny q\iarrymen were 
dealing mighty, swinging strokes that echoed through the valley. To our 
right were the terraced hills of Talant, and ahead the tower of Plombieres 
church, high above the village roofs. We passed white-hooded peasants — 
ample women with genuine, solid bodies, ambling homeward from the mar- 
kets of Dijon, and black-bloused peasants, who, blessed with a patience that 
was never given to us, were " soaking an indefinite bait in an indifferent 
stream;" we passed blazing bonfires by the side of the road, whereon girls 
were heaping all the grasses they had cut during a busy day with the sickle. 
And when we got there, we found the mairie besieged by women in white 
dresses and men in black coats. There was a wedding; and couples were 
whirling in the Salle de Bal. 

That Talant I spoke of, on the hill, is another spot to make for between 
tea and dinner; if only for the views it gives you down over the City of 
Dijon and the Valley of the Ouche. From the village green, shaded with 
ancient walnut trees, between which the children play with their dappled 
goats, there lie before you, across the willow-fringed silver streak that is 
the Canal de Bourgogne, the hills of the Cote d'Or, now shrouded in the 
purple mists of evening. Southward, looming through the red smoke- 
wreaths, that curl upwards from its factories, rise the towered palace, and the 
spires of the ducal city. Below, among the vines and fruit trees, beside the 
red gravel pit in the grey cemetery, the flames of the peasants' fires, flashing in 
lines, like the camp fires of a beleaguered town, are deepening with an 
opalesque veil of floating vapour the gathering mysteries of the night. 

As we climbed the road that winds up the hill to Talant, whose old 
Castle, by the way, was the scene of a hundred memorable events, that I 
have no time to remember now, we saw on our right another wooded spur 
of the Cote d'Or, crowned with a big church and a little one. We knew 
it at once for Fontaine, the home of St. Bernard— a spot not to be missed. 
The next day found us there. Passing through the village, we came to a 
small, round pool at the foot of the steep, shaded with a ring of poplars and 
walnut trees. This must be the very pool in which St. Bernard plunged, 
when, in the hey-day of youth, he felt his blood glowing too warmly within 
him. I wonder that the peasants, or the priests, have not made holy water 
of it before this. We climbed the hill, and, sitting on a broken stone wall, 
caught glimpses, across the changing vines, of distant Dijon towers, while 



THE CITY OF THE DUKES 217 

those improvident grasshoppers, who should have been harvesting against a 
coming winter, just sang and sang, as though they would out-sing the larks. 

Then I wandered through the little Burgundian church, and the tangled 
wilderness of a churchyard, while my wife, sitting enthroned in lilac bushes, 
And eating blackberries of her own picking, watched the western sun gilding, 
height beyond height, the distant hills, and dreamed of Bernard, her chosen 
patron saint. How often must he, torn between chivalry and church, have 
wrestled with his spirit upon that very spot. 

This great building near us, on the crest of the hill, is built on the site 
of Tescelin le Roux's castle; and contains, I believe, some remnants of it; 
but it has no longer any attraction for us. Restoration and modern addi- 
tionsf have stolen away its hoary age. We may be foolish in these matters; 
but we got more pleasure from a wooden bust of St. Bernard, that we bought 
for three francs from a white-winged sister, in the pilgrimage shop beside 
the basilica. We still look at it daily, and believe it — quite wrongly, no 
doubt — to be a perfect likeness of Tescelin's perfect son. 



Before we part from Dijon, there is one other episode in its history to 
which I should like to refer. 

Leaving the town by the southward road that leads to the ancient village 
of Rouvres — Philippe le Hardi, by the way, before his accession to the duke- 
dom, was Philippe de Rouvres — you come upon a vast plain traversed by many 
poplar-fringed roads. 

It was in this plain, close to Dijon, towards Nuits, that was held, in July, 
1443, the great tournament known as the Tournoi de I'Arbre Charlemagne, 
given by the Seigneur de Charny and twelve other noblemen of Burgundy. 
Two lists were dressed — the smaller one for combats on foot, and the other, 
much larger, for mounted knights with the lance. Between them was a 
great pavilion of wood. The larger list had two steps at one end, to enable 
attendants to assist, to arm, or to disarm their knight, without compelling 
him to dismount. On the Dijon side of the lists was a great tent, for use as 
occasion might requireo The tree of Charlemagne, close by, was draped 
with cloth of high warp, bearing the arms of the Lord of Charny; near it 
was " a fountain large and fair with a high stone capital above which were 

tThe western portion was rebuilt under Louis XIII. 



2l8 



BURGUNDY : THE SPLENDID DUCHY 



images of God, of Our Lady, and of Madame St. Anne, and upon the said 
capital were raised in stone the thirteen blazons of the arms of the said Lord 
of Charny and of his companions." 

On that nth July, 
" the princes having 
come they entered the 
house set apart for this 
purpose (which was 
right honourably decked 
and hung); and the Duke 
of Burgundy held a little 
white baton in his hand 
to throw and separate the 
champions, their arms 
being concluded, as is 
the custom in such a 
case. As for the lists, 
they were a sight most 
triumphant to see; for 
they were decked with 
two pavillions for the 
knights, bearing their 
arms and devices in 
blazons, banners, and 
otherwise . . . the 
entry of the assailant 
in the lists was on the 
side of Dijon, and that 
of the defender and 
guardian of the pas was 
on the side of Nuits." 

The first fight be- 
tween Charny and a 
Spanish knight, both on foot and armed with axes, is too like that already 
described, in the Tournoi de la dame de Pleurs, to justify us in giving Olivier 
de la Marche's graphic description of it. We will tell, instead, of a fight on 




THE CITY OF THE DUKES 



219 



the 9th day of the Tournament, between the Count of St. Martin and 
Guillaume de Vaudrey. 

"At the third course the said De Vaudrey reached the Count's great arm- 
guard and disarmed him, so that they had to forge and open the said arm- 
guard, and two full hours were spent before he was re-armed. At the fourth 
charge the said Guillaume de Vaudrey reached the Count, with his lance on 
the arm near the side, and with this stroke he dinted his arm, and broke his 
lance off short at the blade, so that the blade remained in the said Count's 
arm, and readily appeared the blood and the wound. So the Duke com- 
manded that he should at once be disarmed, and set aright, and certes the 
duke and all the lords were most troubled at this adventure; and even the 
said De Vaudrey regretted right wonderfully his companion's wound." 

There was much subsequent discussion as to how this accident could have 
occurred; and the general opinion seemed to be that it was the Count's own 
fault, by reason of a bad trick he had of riding at his man from the corner 
of the lists, and so meeting him cross-wise, instead of charging along the 
matting — which was laid from end to end of the lists especially for that 
purpose; but, whatever the cause, as Olivier fatalistically remarks, " Ce qui 
doit advenir advient : et fut telle ceste aventure." 

" On the loth day of August, a day of St. Laurence, came Monsieur de 
Bourgogne, Madame his spouse, all the ladies and lords, to see the arms of 
the two noblemen, and there presented 
himself Jacques de Challant Signeur de 
Manille, most honourably accompanied 
by the Lord of Charny, and by his com- 
panions, as also by his relatives and 
friends; and he presented himself on a 
charger, covered with cloth of blue 
damask, right prettily adorned with his 
letters and devices; as he was mounted 
and armed ready to furnish arms. On 
the other side presented himself the 
knight (who sustained the enterprise), 
mounted and armed as is fitting in such case. His horse was decked, as I 
remember, in satin, half white and half violet, quartered; and right well 
the knght sat his horse, for in figure he was supple, fair to look upon, and 




220 BURGUNDY . THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

right agreeable to all. All due things were done and the lances distributed; 
and it came about that in the first onset Jacques de Challant got home upon 
the knight's arm-guard; by the which he was disarmed, so that the said arm- 
guard had to be opened by the armourers, (and it took) more than three 
hours, and while they made good the said arm-guard, the Lord of Charny 
caused a banquet to be served to the Duke and to the Duchess and to all 
the Signeurs, where they were sitting, right bounteously, both meats and 
wines." 

After the luncheon they set to it again. 

" And at their second charge the noble men rode with all the strength of 
their steeds; and so stern was this onset, that the Spaniard's charger could not 
sustain the shock, so fell to the ground; and swiftly horseman and horse were 
raised, but from this fall the Spaniard's harness was so bent and forced that 
he was quite disarmed; and they must needs put off those arms unto another 
day. Within a few days after that the term of six weeks that this noble 
meeting should last was past and expired, and the following day (which was 
on a Sunday, a little before the Great Mass) the kings-at-arms and the 
heralds assembled from all parts further to honour the mystery; and, having 
put on their coats of arms, they brought by order and with great magnificence, 
the two shields which for six weeks had been hung and fastened to the tree 
of Charlemagne, and on which was founded the meeting aforesaid. Then 
they entered the Church of Notre Dame de Dijon, and all kneeling offered 
and presented the aforesaid shields to the glorious Virgin Mary; which shields 
are still in the said church, in a chapel on the right hand as you come to 
the choir." 






THE DEVlCS^^PIT 



CHAPTER XV 



By a curious coincidence^ — by a real coincidence, reader, not by design — it 
was on a morning of Easter-day that we rode out from Dijon to Lux — on 
just such an Easter morning as that about which I am going to tell; the air 
fresh and fragrant, the larks in full song, and the sun shining so strongly in 
the deep, blue sky, that I had to make a Sunday purchase of a broad-brimmed 
straw hat. So that, you see, in one sense, I began the day badly, and perhaps 
deserved the trouble that befell me later. 

Lux, the village in which the legend begins, and the village beyond it, 
are not particularly interesting places, situate on the border of the For^t de 
Velours, some twenty or more kilometres north-east of Dijon, in Wiltshire- 
like scenery reminding one of Salisbury Plain. If you want a not too 
exciting excursion, to fill an otherwise idle day, by all means go there; but 
truth compels me to add that this Creux du Diable, when you have found 
itf — and it is not particularly easy to find, being hidden one hundred yards 
within the wood — is not exciting. It is just a tangled pit running sheer 
down from the scrub that borders the forest path. One look at it was 
enough. We felt no desire to follow the devil down into its depths, nor 

tThe Carte-Taride marks it incorrectly as being outside the wood, whereas it is 

within it. 



222 BURGUNDY; THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

did conscience tell us that we deserved to. True, we, too, had hunted on 
Easter morning, without going to Mass; but then we had hunted a legend, 
not a boar — and surely that makes all the difference. 

Back to the village, then, we went; and there I re-discovered a peasant, of 
whom I had asked the way. He was sitting in a lovely doorway, at the top 
of some broken steps, reading a paper. Hearing the whirr of the wheels, he 
looked up. 

" Ah ha ! did you find it ? " " Thanks to you," said I, and joined him on 
the steps. 

" Mon Dieu," says he; " It's a strange place. It ends almost in a point — ■ 
this Creux du Diable. It is just full of foxes' holes; and as for the vipers — 
there are so many there that, when the time comes to cut the wood, they have 
to do it in the fraiche; sans cela ils vous mordent les jambes k tout instant. 
O ! il y en a; il y en a! 

" Why do they bite less in the fraiche — these limbs of Satan.?" I asked 
him. 

" Oh ! they are busy in the morning (font leur travail le matin)." 

I tried to get the old man's version of the legend; but, discovering that he 
knew nothing of it, I bid him farewell. 

" Good-bye," said he, shaking my hand warmly, " When we meet ht 
Dijon, nous irons boire un coup." 

So we rode home through a hop country — a land of blackthorn and good 
purple furrows, dotted with stacks of poles. Will you listen, while we go, 
to the legend of that viper-haunted pit ? 

THE DEVIL'S PIT 

It is Easter day. From the belfry the Alleluia rings out; the lark sings it 
above the meadows; the thrush whistles it in the woods; the sun writes it ''n 
letters of gold on the blue, blue sky. All nature is in her gayest mood, to 
celebrate the festival of Christ's resurrection. 

In the village of Lux, all hearts are echoing this Alleluia. The good 
people, in their holiday attire, go to hear matins, and to receive communion 
with holy Jesus, the renewer of heavenly as of earthly spring. But to Gas- 
ton, the lord of the village, the pure joys of the Christian Easter are unknown. 
He is a young baron, proud, haughty, violent, and devoted only to the chase. 



THE DEVIL'S PIT 223 

Loudly he sounds the horn, and cries to his servants : " Saddle the horses, 
and bring hither my hounds." 

Vainly the grooms and valets recall to him the solemnity of the day, and 
our Lord's commandment. "To the hunt," he cries; "We leave prayers vo 
the priests and the women; such a fine hunting day is not to be missed." 

The steeds are ready; in the courtyard of the castle the hounds are baying. 
As Gaston gives the signal for departure, the old chaplain lays his hand on 
the courser's rein. 

"For the love of Heaven, Monseigneur ! " cries he, "do not thus outrage 
God, nor so darkly stain your soul !" 

The headstrong baron strikes the priest, who, without flinching, offers 
again his old white head to the blow. 

"Strike again, Monseigneur; but, for pity of your soul, do not fail to hear 
mass to-day; else, evil will befall you." 

Again he is repulsed, and the young lord departs. 

Followed by his hounds and his servants, and blowing great blasts upon 
his horn, Gaston passes through a straggling village. Disdainfully he looks 
down on the good villagers, who salute him on their way to church. "Mis- 
fortune will come upon our lord," murmur the old men. "Great and 
powerful seigneur though he be, he insults and scorns a greater and more 
powerful than himself." 

Two wide roads meet upon the verge of the forest of Velours. There 
come two horsemen, riding swiftly as the wind, and place themselves each 
by Gaston's side. He on the right, mounted on a white horse, is radiant 
and of noble mien; his eyes shine with a heavenly light, and his clothing, 
glistening like snow, exhales a perfume sweeter than the meadows on a morn- 
ing of Spring. The rider on the left is of sullen countenance, and swarthy 
of aspect; his glance stern and forbidding. His hair is blacker than the 
raven's wing; and his garments, darker than the night, emit an odour of 
sulphur. His steed glows like a flame of fire. 

"Friends," cries Gaston, "Welcome to you both. In happy hour you 
have come, to hunt the great woods with me. Fair fall us then ! there is 
no sport, in heaven or on earth, like the chase — above all when we hunt in 
goodly company." 

The horseman on the right speaks : "Young seigneur, the bell calls you; 
listen to its plaintive note chiming, from far away, through the trees. Re- 



224 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

turn; or misfortune will befall you. Let us kneel together at the altar of 
Christ. Already, before daybreak, I heard mass, and sang the Alleluia; 
willingly will I do so again by your side. Come ! Our duty done, sweeter 
by far will be the pleasures of the chase." 

"Ride, noble baron, ride," cries the black horseman. "Do not listen to 
this ill counsellor. The bugle blast is finer music than the chiming of bells, 
and the hunt better pastime far than a dull priest's sermon, and the droning 
of hymns." 

"Well said, friend on my left!" cries Gaston. "Without offence to the 
white horseman, you are jovial company, after my own heart. We young 
lords want lively sport and merry jests; let us leave sermons and paternosters 
to the monks." 

Gaston has unleashed his hounds. Caressing them with eye and hand, 
urging them on with voice and gesture, he looses them upon the scent. 
With heads held low and wagging tails, baying with deep bell notes, they 
dash through the forest upon the track of the game. The baying redoubles, 
as, plunging into a thick copse, they come upon the lair of a great wolf. 
With bristling hair, fiery eyed, and snarling horribly, for an instant the fierce 
brute faces the hounds, then turns, and flies through the forest. Vainly he 
seeks the thickest brakes, the most secret hollows; always the ravening pack 
is at his heels. 

At length the wolf gains the open country, and the chase follows him : 
the blast of Gaston's horn has collected the scattered huntsmen. Far, far 
they gallop, by cornfields and meadows, over weald and waste. 

From a hamlet before them, comes tripping a little shepherdess at the 
head of her flock. The road is narrow and bordered by hedges. All in 
tears, the child cries out to Gaston : "Be merciful, sweet lord, be merciful; 
spare my flock. For pity's sake, do not destroy the widow's sheep, and our 
dear little lambs." 

"Have pity, for your soul's sake," cries the white horseman. "Do not 
scorn her prayers nor her tears; they will rise to God, and cry out for 
vengeance against you there." 

"Ride down lambs and sheep," replies the black rider. "What are they — 
that they should spoil a young lord's sport ? For such a trifle must we let 
our prey escape us?" 

"You are right," cries the impetuous hunter. He spurs on his horsey 



226 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

after him gallop the grooms and the valets. Only the white horseman turns 
aside with a sigh. 

Like a whirlwind the hunt has passed, leaving desolation and death in its 
wake. The sheep fall bleeding to the earth, the lambs are trampled down, 
and the little shepherdess is lying upon the ground, bruised like a trodden 
flower of the field. 

Still the wolf flies on — by field and wood, by hill and valley, by upland 
and mountain. None can overtake him. The hounds fall exhausted; 
scarce a horse can carry its rider further. 

The hunters come to a lonely valley. There, near a spring which bubbles 
beneath an ancient oak, a little chapel and a cottage rise from the midst of 
a field of green corn. This is the little domain of an old hermit, whose days 
are passed in work and in prayer; one who shelters the poor, and puts the 
lost traveller upon his way. 

"Noble baron," cries the black horseman, "By my troth, here let us 
stay, and refresh ourselves. There is water for our thirst, and good grazing 
for our steeds." "Zounds," replies the hunter, "You say well." 

Gaston, with a blast of his horn, recalls the hounds and attendants; and, 
despite the entreaties of the white horseman, and the reluctance of his fol- 
lowers, he bids them turn the horses into the field of green corn. Hastening 
to him, the hermit cries, in tones of earnest pleading : "Have pity, gracious 
lord; spare the labour of an old man; do not let your steeds devour and 
trample down the field which nourishes the solitary, the traveller, and the 
poor." 

"To the devil with hermits and nuns," replies the proud hunter. "Away 
with you, lazy rascal; or your carcass shall go to feed my hounds." 

Frightened and sad, the poor old man turns away, murmuring to himself: 
"Father, which art in Heaven, forgive this young man; Thy providence 
which feeds the birds of the air and clothes the flower of the field will suflRce 
for me also." 

"Gaston," interposes the white rider, "Your words are harsh. Who 
knows but that you owe your very life to this old man ? that, perchance with- 
out his prayers and fastings, your soul, already weighed many times in the 
heavenly scales, might well have been found too light." But the admoni- 
tion of the white horseman passes unheeded. Seated beside the spring, the 
huntsmen make a long and merry repast; the jests ring out, loose and loud; 



THE DEVIL'S PIT 227 

with wild laughter the young baron applauds every sally of his dark com- 
panion. 

'Tis the vesper hour; the hermit rings the chapel bell. To-day he is not 
alone in the sanctuary; the white horseman, leaving his companions, joins 
the old man in psalm and canticle. Never has the recluse heard a voice more 
pure, never has he joined in a more holy communion. The two servants of 
God, leaving the chapel together, pause for a moment on the threshold. 
They gaze out over the scene. The huntsmen are gone; the field of green 
corn is ravaged, blasted, as though by a storm of hail. In one hour, Gaston's 
horses have destroyed the work of a year. 

The white horseman bids farewell to the hermit, and hastens to join the 
baron. Regretfully the recluse watches the departing figure. "Who," he 
murmurs to himself, "may this noble hunter be? His kiss has filled me 
with peace and joy, and all my heart is aglow in his presence." 

Now the hunt is again set on. The wolf has doubled back upon iiis 
track. Meanwhile the forest shadows lengthen, the sun is low upon the 
horizon. Once more the hunt passes through the village. In the road, still 
red with the blood of the shepherdess, a poor man stands, awaiting Gaston. 
He seizes the young lord's cloak, and asks alms, for the love of God. 

"Dear baron," cries the white rider, "It is a means of grace, which the 
Saviour sends you. I beseech you, redeem your sins by the giving of alms; 
it is like water which quenches fire. Give a helping hand to him who 
stands for Jesus," 

"Gaston," retorts the black rider, "For this clown will you stay the hunt, 
and let the great wolf win the day? Gallop! gallop!" 

"There are my alms," cries the brutal lord; and, making his horse rear, 
with his whip he strikes at the poor man's head. The beggar utters a cry, 
and wipes his bleeding face. Again the hunt plunges into the forest of 
Velours, in pursuit of the tireless wolf. The sun has set behind the great 
trees; the forest shadows are blotted out in the darkness of the night. 'Tis 
the hour of solemn thought. 

"Friend," says the white horseman, softly to Gaston, " this has been an 
ill day's work : you have mocked God, you have insulted his minister; you 
have trampled upon the shepherdess and her flock; you have ravaged the 
hermit's field, and you have struck the face of the poor. Turn, I entreat 
you, a suppliant eye to heaven, breathe a word of repentance towards God." 



228 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

"What is that to me?" replies the hunter with a sneer, "Time enough 
yet to think of my soul. When I can search the woods no more, then I will 
wear a hair shirt, throw largesse to monk and beggar, and mutter psalms and 
what-not in church; but, until then, the gay life for me!" 

"Gaston ! the life of man is short and fragile; it is given him, not to waste 
in folly; but to purchase therewith the joys of heaven. I conjure you, for 
your soul's sake, implore the mercy of God." 

"He's dull company indeed! Off with you to your paradise!" cries the 
young lord, irritated by these entreaties, and by his day of ill-success. 

"Farewell, Gaston," murmurs the white rider. "Why would you not 
listen to one who would save you?" A tear falls from his eye, as spreading 
wide two white wings, he soars heavenward, leaving behind him a stream of 
light. 

Then the hunter realizes that his good angel has deserted him. Fearfully 
he looks towards the dark figure on his left; a shiver of mortal dread shakes 
every limb, and the sweat of death rises damp upon his face. The arms of 
the black one extend and seize him. He feels his flesh pierced and torn by 
talons more powerful than a lion's, sharper than those of a vulture. He 
roars with pain and terror; so bewildered is he, that no cry to God comes 
from him, nor, with the holy sign, does he invoke the name of Jesus. 

Still grasping his prey, the black horseman strikes the ground with his 
lance. The earth groans deeply, opens wide, and from the gaping cavity 
there rises a column of black smoke. From the abyss beneath, a sea of fire, 
upon whose heaving waves are rolled the legions of the damned, rise lamen- 
tations, cries, and blasphemies, heard above the roaring of the infernal waters. 
Like fiery serpents the flames writhe and coil round the body of the guilty 
hunter. "Gaston," hisses the black horseman, as steed and rider leap into 
the boiling cavity; "Gaston, you have lent ear to me during life; now you 
are mine for all eternity." 

"Woe betide me ! " cries the reprobate. "I have disregarded the Lord's 
warning, and the counsels of my good angel ! " 

The abyss closed up, leaving only a dark and fearsome cavity. That 
cavity is the Devil's Pit. 

******* 

We had started on our way back to Dijon by train, when, at Gemeaux, 
the first stopping place, I became unpleasantly aware that I had left my 



THE DEVIL'S PIT 229 

notebook behind me, on the table of a cafe at Is-sur-Tille. Not caring to 
leave several chapters of this volume to the vagaries of a very uncertain 
memory, there was nothing for it but to leave the train, and vi^alk the five 
kilometres back to Is. Under less anxious circumstances I should have 
enjoyed that walk, by field paths, below hills that reminded me of the North 
Downs at Wrotham. The light was golden; the evening breeze rustled in 
the young crops. In front of me paced a shepherd, followed by a flock of 
pattering sheep, at whose fleeces the guardian dog tugged mercilessly, when 
succulent, wayside trifles tempted them from the straight path. 

On the bridge at Is, I met mademoiselle of the caf^, whose beaming 
countenance revealed to me, before she spoke, the news that she had found 
my book. So far so good; but how to pass the four hours before the next 
train? I was cold and clammy; and much too tired to explore that savage 
^tang de Marcilly hard by — lonely and desolate enough for the site of a 
Cistercian house. Such places need a receptive mood. Moreover, here was 
no fit place to dine — and I had within me a Creux du Diable. Surely my 
good angel had left me. 

I dined at last — very badly — and there were still two hours to wait. Time 
flew no longer; it crept. Thoughts came no longer; nothing came; nothing 
happened. I was bored, bored stiff. Reader, do you know what it is to be 
bored ? 

"I wish to goodness you wouldn't be so garrulous — all about nothing." 

"That's all very well, Reader; but what the dickens is a fellow to do, 
cast away for four mortal hours in this benighted hole — except talk?" 

"Well its your own fault. You ought to have known, when you started, 
that it was Easter morning, and " 

"Oh! Gr rr r r r r !" 

"Monsieur, it is time you left. If you miss this train you will be here all 
night!" 

"Et bien; au revoir. Mademoiselle." 




CHAPTER XVI 

Ever since we left Beaune, my wife has been endeavouring, at frequent 
intervals, to extract from me an unconditional promise that, one day, we 
will go to live there. "It would be lovely," she says, "to live close to the 
Hotel Dieu, and to watch the vines, for a whole summer, ripening on the 
Cote d'Or." So it would. 

Certainly, if we are to live in France, we might do worse than choose 
this little rampart-girdled town, that, though on the main line of the P.L.M., 
has retained so much of its mediaeval charm, and still has houses to show 
you of every century from the thirteenth onwards. 

Beaune has a cachet, and surprises all its own. Go where you may, you 
will find them, or they will find you. Stand in the little Rue de I'Enfer, 
not happily named, and look up towards the church. Along a white wall, 
that the sun has fretted with a lace-work of leafy shadow, runs a frieze of 
\\j^ below a rich cornice of blossoming lilac. Within that garden are 
glimpses of ancient mottled walls, seen through green branches, whose wavy 
lines lead up to the tower, crowned by the lovely dome and lantern of Notre 
Dame. 

Or stand beneath the exquisite, gothic porch of that same church, and 
look through its soft, brown shadowy arches to the white walls and flowery 
gardens of the old houses beside it; or across the place, to where the warm, 
purple shadows lie upon the rosy oriel and tourelle of the Maison du 
Colombier. 



232 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

There are good things, too, in the centre of the town — the Flemish belfry 
in the Place Monge; ancient houses in the Rue de Lorraine; and especially 
a glimpse of a fifteenth century, pink- washed corner shop, topped by the 
graceful lantern of the Hospice de la Charite. 

Here we are back at Notre Dame, one of the finest churches in Bur- 
gundy, but so hemmed in by other buildings that it is not seen to advantage, 
except from the west side, at a point in the street beyond the Colombier. 
There only do you get the whole building and the proportions of the tower 
in good perspective. The view from the east end, however, is presentable. 
The apsidal chapels, the ambulatory and lofty choir, leading the eye upward, 
stage by stage, to the glorious dome tiled in red, green, and yellow, give a 
quite Burgundian effect of satisfying solidity, and of colouring that, though, 
on the whole, rather cold, is harmonious in certain lights. 

As usual, the heavy flying buttresses, that fail to fly, are an architectural 
defect. 

The gem of the exterior is the early thirteenth-century, triple, open- 
aisled porch, of two bays, with gloriously carved panelled doors of the 
fifteenth century. For grace and harmony of proportion this porch is one of 
the best in France. It recalls that most successful of all fa9ades, Peter- 
borough Cathedral. 

The interior has all the features of twelfth-century Burgundian roman- 
esque — an almost barrel-vaulted nave, and aisle, with slightly stilted horse- 
shoe arches, and quadripartite vaulting, groined, without ribs. Some of the 
cushion capitals are plain, some carved, and the vaulting shafts throughout, 
except in the transept, take the ordinary Burgundian form of fluted 
pilasters. 

Each bay of the triforium is divided, as usual, into three round-headed 
arches — of which two are blind and the centre one pierced — with fluted, or 
zig-zagged pilasters between them. In the chapel of St. Leger are two quite 
interesting fifteenth century frescoes of the raising of Lazarus, and the ston- 
ing of Stephen — both, probably, by a painter of the Flemish school. The 
former picture, though mutilated and faded, is still quite realistic; too much 
so, in a sense; for the bystanders are so interested in the miracle that they 
have elbowed the Christ quite to one side of the picture. Martha is promi- 
nent, in the conventional attitude, with her handkerchief to her nose. "Jam 
Foetet." 




PORCH OF EGLISE NOTRE DAME BEAUNE 



BEAUNE AND THE COTE D'OR 233 

But Notre Dame, though good, is not the best of Beaune. The church 
must yield to the Hotel Dieu. History, or, at any rate, my history, does not 
relate how Nicholas Rolin, the Chancellor of Philippe le Bon, came to erect 
at a little fifth-rate town, such as is Beaune, a hospital unrivalled in all 
France; yet such is the fact. I do not even know why he built one at all, 
unless old Louis XL's mot be true — that he had "made enough poor to ne- 
cessitate building a hospital to keep them in." But, there it is, an eighth 
wonder of the world; beautiful, from the crest on the gable to the knocker 
on the door. 

This Hotel Dieu, seen on a grey day or a blue one, is absolutely har- 
monious and satisfying. Whether you follow the length of soft, yellow, 
brown wall, the blue-grey expanse of the high-pitched roof, the delicate 
fleche, or the starry, gabled hood over the entrance, your eye feasts upon a 
poem in form and colour; you feel at once the intense delight of looking 
upon a work of art that could not have been better done. But you will stay 
longest before the porch, the most daring and most completely successful 
that exists. 

The entrance is beneath a flattened arch, through a panelled door with a 
beautiful forged-iron knocker and alms-box; all protected by a glorious three- 
gabled hood, crocketed and pinnacled, and built into the main wall, from 
which it projects without visible support. The pendants have angels, bear- 
ing shields, with the arms of Nicholas Rolin and his wife. The hood is 
slated in grey, as is the roof, and the blue vault beneath is starred with golden 
stars, symbolizing the little heaven within. Upon the blue tympanum is 
written in gold letters, "Hostel Dieu, 1443." All these blues and golds 
harmonise perfectly with the great crested roof, whether in its more sombre, 
grey mood, or when the richer purples come leaping from it at the call of 
the sun, to play about the sides of the dormers, or among the shadows of the 
flagged pinnacles above. 

The exterior remains almost unchanged from the time of Nicholas Rolin, 
when the poor of Beaune first gathered round the stone benches, and beneath 
the verandah,* to receive their dole of five hundred kilos of bread that are still 
distributed once a year to the needy of the district. 

Following a white-winged sister, we passed into the courtyard, to find 

•This verandah or hood has disappeared. It is shown on a model of the hospital to 

be seen in the musee. 



234 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

ourselves in a great, galleried building, of the late Flemish type, with a many- 
coloured linoleum roof, elaborate pinnacled gables, and, in one corner, a well 
in the forged ironwork which the Flamands of that time worked with 
unrivalled skill. 

There was only one jarring note — the garish brown colour of the wood- 
work, laid on, the guide told me, five years ago. It is a thousand pities; for 
had the oak been merely oiled, or painted a dark brown, or matched with 
one of the tints in the roof, many visitors would be spared a shock, and I 
doubt not that the convalescence of certain patients would be considerably 
accelerated. Yet, in spite of garish paint, we can echo Viollet-le-Duc's 
sentiment, that it is worth while to be ill at Beaune. 

This abode of peace takes you straight back to the fifteenth century, with 
its beauties all intact, and only its horrors mitigated. Nothing here has 
changed — from the costumes of the white angels who flit noiselessly through 
the kitchens and wards, to the tapestry covers laid upon the curtained, oak 
beds, with the oak chairs beside them. Even the pewter vessels are identical 
with those in use at the founding of the hospital. 

The chapel, too, opening from one of the wards, is a good place to pray 
in. Through the glorious windows — copies of the original, resplendent with 
figures and devices — the warm colour streams down upon the altar, where of 
old was set up Roger Van der Weyden's magnificent Last Judgment; now 
in the musee above. On great days the volets were drawn back, and the 
picture exposed; magnificent red tapestries were laid upon the beds, and all 
was ordered for the best in this little kingdom-of-heaven upon earth. 

Here Guigonne de Salins, the great Chancellor's wife, is laid; and her 
arms (the castle) and his (the key) with his device, " Seule a^ " (Only 
Star), are scattered broadcast. No less ubiquitous is her motto. The Bird on 
the Bough, signifying how lonely she was to be after her lord's death. Gui- 
gonne, no doubt, was sincere enough; but one cannot help remembering that 
the sentiments expressed in these devices were not always lived up to. Did 
not Rolin's own master, Philippe le Bon, for example, choose the words 
"Aultre n'Auray" as a chaste allusion to his conjugal devotion ? yet we have 
Olivier de la Marche assuring us that his gracious master had "de batards et 
de batardes une moult belle compagnie." 

But I am digressing. We must follow to the mus^e our guide, whose 
manner could not be more gentle, were we patients and not visitors, — 



236 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

xeminded on the way, by the sight of poh'shed floors and shining pots, that 
the cleanh'ness of this building moved a certain worthy Canon Papillon, in 
the 17th century, to remark, " Ineptiarum stultus est labor," which, freely 
rendered, means : " They are fools who waste soap." 

The best thing in the musee — in fact, the only thing that one really goes 
there to see — is the Last Judgment of Roger Van der Weyden, which, in 
spite of the 19th century restoration, remains a splendid example of Flemish 
art, still very Gothic in treatment, and full of the sadness of decline. The 
work is executed with all the microscopic accuracy of detail characteristic of 
the school. There is fine realism, and individual treatment; but no break- 
away from tradition : all the figures are consciously attitudinizing, 
and one feels that the painter is making a last desperate effort 
to enforce belief in an outworn dogma. The welter of human 
beings, bursting out from their graves, dragging one another, and 
being dragged, by hair and limbs, pell-mell down into hell; 
this biting of fingers, and pulling of ears till they bleed, does not 
convince. Such a subject was well suited to the primitives of the Roman- 
esque and early Gothic periods, but seems hopelessly archaic for a painter 
born within hail of the Renaissance. Nevertheless, though, in spite of its 
horrors, and its unhappy colouring, the picture, as you linger before it, grows 
on you, it is with a sigh of relief that you turn to its more successful part, the 
portraits of the donors, magnificent in their energy and expression. Here 
you have an opportunity to judge concerning the probability of Louis XL's 
alleged slander upon Nicholas Rolin. Did he, or did he not, grind the faces 
of the poor? My wife says unhesitatingly, " He did "; and, looking at 
the significant scarlet angel above his head — suggestive of a red aura — I 
decline to contradict a lady. His is, indeed, a disinheriting countenance. 
But Guigonne, his seule ^toile, is of a different stamp. Piety exudes from 
her. As the guide somewhat bluntly put it, " She was as good as she was 
ugly " — a speech which no lady, living or dead, would ever forgive. 



\!NT MARTINS Wm 
MD THE LECEMD 





CHAPTER XVII 

Leaving my wife to run the gauntlet of the gamins of Beaune, while she 
sketched the starry hood and the porch of Notre Dame, we fared forth on 
our bicycles, towards the ancient village of Bouilland, fifteen kilometres 
away, to which I received my first call when I happened upon the legend of 
its Abbey. 

Bouilland lies beyond Savigny, in the heart of the valley of the Bouxaise, 
a tributary of the Saone, by a road so lonely that, between Savigny and our 
destination we met only one individual — and he was sitting in a cart, so fast 
asleep that, though we longed to do so, we had not the heart to wake him. 

Saint Marguerite lies high up in a hollow of the rocky hills, on the edge 
of the Foret au Maitre — one of the most deserted spots in all Christendom. 
What was once a glorious building, with a Romanesque nave and a lovely, 
late thirteenth-century transept and apse, lightened with carved foliage, 
capitals, and graceful, slender shafts, is now a roofless ruin. Wild fruit 
trees grow in the transepts; the floor of the nave is paved with a litter of 
mossy stones, beneath which the ivy and the brambles take root; cowslips and 
purple violets jewel the apse with delights beyond the art of even Gothic 
sculptors; through the roofless arches you look up at the whispering forest- 
pines. Westward of the Abbey, beside the deserted adjunct buildings, is a 
grassy terrace, stone-walled, shaded by blossoming fruit trees. From this 
fresh, green garden you can look, beyond the darkness of the ancient gate- 
Q 



238 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

way, into the flaming yellow of a field of " Mustard," the symbol of a 
living world beyond. Sit beside me on the old stone, wall, and hear the 
legend of Saint Marguerite. 

In days of yore, there lived in the Castle of Vergy, a maiden, beautiful 
and pure as an angel; she was named Marguerite, 

Many young suitors of noble birth desired her hand : one, in particular, 
was more handsome than all the others; but his conversation was unchaste, 
and treachery lurked in his glance and in his smile. 

Marguerite would never listen to his profane addresses; she repulsed him, 
saying: "Speak not to me of earthly love; to me, who have chosen, for all 
eternity, Jesus, the most loving and tender of husbands." 

At the name of Jesus, the face of the handsome youth grew pale; and he 
turned away. 

The holy maid, sometimes followed by one of her companions, went to 
speak of God and of heavenly things, with an old hermit, who lived in the 
depths of a neighbouring forest. 

One evening, when she was returing from one of these visits, and, mounted 
on her mule, was crossing the great wood, she perceived the page awaiting 
her at a bend of the path. Swiftly she turned the animal, and, in her hasty 
flight, left her veil hanging on the branches of a hawthorn bush. 

Her steed moved swiftly; but swifter still follows the treacherous youth; 
he is lighter than the wind; scarcely do the grasses bend beneath his feet. 

But — crowning misfortune — the poor girl, instead of following the broad 
valley way, as her companion has done, turns into a side path that is soon 
barred by a great rampart of rocks. 

All is over; she must fall a victim to her pursuer. . . . Already he 
stretches out his arms to seize her. As his hands, quivering with passion, 
touch the young girl, he breaks into a peal of infernal laughter that resounds 
through the whole valley. 

Then Marguerite remembers her betrothed in Heaven. She calls upon 
Him for aid; she murmurs His name, and arms herself with His sign. 

At the name of Jesus, spoken with that faith which removes mountains, 
the rock opens before her, and the mule carries the Christian maid to safety. 

But the false page, a demon in disguise, fell down into a fiery gulf that 
opened suddenly beneath his feet. Afterwards, when the earth had closed 
again over the spot, the peasants found, lying upon the wayside grass, a girdle 
of white silk, the symbol of Marguerite's purity and innocence. 



240 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

The maid of Vergy reined in her mule before a fountain, a few paces from 
the parted rock. ' She dismounted, and, prostrating herself, she consecrated 
to the Lord her virginity that had been so miraculously preserved. 

In a later year, with the dowry left her by her father, she built, on this 
spot, a monastery, to which she gave the name of Ste. Marguerite, her patron 

saint, as a song of thanksgiving in praise of her Heavenly Spouse. 

******** 

Philippe Pot being a name to conjure with in Burgundy, we took the first 
opportunity to make acquaintance with his eagle's nest, the Roche-Pot. The 
road from Beaune skirts the Cote d'Or, as far as Pommard, and climbs, be- 
tween the vineyards, into the hills. These vineyards, in which are produced 
some of the choicest vines of the district, are surrounded each with a stone 
wall and gateway, with the name of the clos written on it — " Clos des 
Chenes," " Clos des Antres," etc. As you rise, there opens out a lovely- 
view over the fruitful plain of Burgundy, a golden sea of vines. Below us, 
ahead, the dark roofs and spires of Meursault rise from the trees, and beyond 
them, shining in a blue mist, the widening southern hills of the Cote d'Or. 

About half a mile from Meursault, the road, turning due west, plunges 
down into the valley of the Clous, between the hills, rock-clad at their 
summits, vine-clad below. Thence the way undulates past Auxey-le-Grand 
and Melin, until suddenly you sight, above the trees, the towers of Rochepot 
perched upon its crag. Leaving my wife to sketch, I made my way up 
through the dilapidated village, and soon found myself crossing the draw- 
bridge of a mediaeval castle, glowing as brightly with gold and colour, and 
with blazoned coats of arms, as on the day when it was first built. Here 
were round towers, machicolated battlements, a pepper-pot roof, with not a 
stone or tile of them disordered. I had expected a ruin — a lizards' play- 
ground; yet here before my eyes was Philippe Pot's own legend, " TANT 
L VAUT," as fresh as painter and gilder could make it. 

" Whose is this castle?" I asked of the harmless, necessary guide, who by 
now had put in an appearance, and was assuring some gaping visitors that 
Philippe was called Pot because he always carried a pot about with him — z. 
paint pot, judging by the condition of his castle. 

" This is M. Carnot's castle. Monsieur, the eldest son of the late President. 
He has already spent millions in restoration, and he is about to convert into 
a terrace the remains of the iith century Chateau, up there." He pointed 



242 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

to a fine, rounded-headed window, of two lights, high above us on the rock. 
While we were being hurried round this fortress of all the centuries, I fell to 
thinking of Philippe Pot, of his home, and his legend. 

Begun in the thirteenth century, by Alexandre de Bourgogne, Prince de 
Moree, the castle was fortified in the early fifteenth by Rene Pot,* whose 
son Philippe t was the only man of them all to leave it a popular name. 

In the middle of the fifteenth century, the Ottoman Sultan, Mahomet IL, 
was threatening Constantinople, then in the hands of Constantine, Emperor 
of Byzantium, who appealed to Pope Nicholas V. for help against the 
Islamite invasion. To young Philippe Pot, nearly twenty-five years of age, 
the bravest, most handsome, and most eloquent chevalier of his day, and a 
poet withal — a crusade was as the candle to the moth. Never might 
come such another opportunity to win his spurs away from home. So lie 
wrote to his fiancee, the richest and loveliest heiress of all Burgundy, Jeanne, 
daughter of Pierre de Baufremont, Comte de Charny, great chamberlain of 
Philippe le Bon. 

" Gentille Damoiselle, I am setting forth to Constantinople; I wish before 
our bridal to render myself worthy of you and of your valiant father." 
Before dawn, on an August morning, in the year 1452, he left Rochepot, 
and rode to Notre Dame de Dijon, where he met four hundred other young 
knights sworn to follow his lead. There they heard Mass before the altar 
of the Virgin, and bespoke her blessing on their banner, that bore her picture, 
and the device : "Notre Dame de Bon Espoir, soyez-nous en aide." Then 
they rode eastward through the streets of Dijon. " Honneur aux preux!" 
shouted the crowds; " Honneur aux chevaliers de Notre Dame!"+ 

We have no time to follow all the adventures of our chevalier in the land 
of Islam — how with his own hand, he slew and slew, until the bravest of the 
Saracens learned to fear the prowess of the " Chevalier de la Mort "; how, at 
last, he was captured by the Turks, before Constantinople, imprisoned, 
flogged, almost to death, because he would not become the Sultan's man, nor 
bow to the name of the Prophet — how he consoled himself in prison by 
writing verses to the Lady Virgin to whom he was vowed. 

* Rochepot has been inhabited by many other nable families of the house of 
Burgundy, notably those of Montmorency, Silly, Angennes, Legoux, Blancheton. 

t Born 1428. 
X Legendes Bourguignonnes ; " Philippe Pot " p. 154. By I'Abbe B . 




PORCH OF HOTEL DIEU-BEAUNE 

Facing page 242] 



SAINT MARTIN'S WELL 243 

" Sauve-moi, Dame glorieuse, 
De la prison tant rigoureuse, 
Ou I'on ne voit que cruaut^; 
Garde-moi d'y etre bout^, 
Car i chacun tu es piteuse, 
Mere de Dieu."t 

His prayer was answered. For, before long, the Sultan, wishing to make 
an end of his prisoner, brought him one day into the arena, and caused to be 
handed to him, for his only weapon, a light scimitar, that was but a toy com- 
pared with the young chevalier's mighty sword, beneath whose deadly strokes 
so many Turks had already fallen. Then was loosed upon him, thus armed, 
a magnificent lion, that had already been the death of many prisoner knights. 

" This is no combat," murmured the assembled thousands, one to another, 
" 'Tis an execution — already the old lion has slain his hundreds — ^and he has 
eaten nothing these three days." Meanwhile the adversaries stood face to 
face. With two great bounds the lion is upon his man; but, as he crouches 
for the third spring, the hero makes a swift movement; the scimitar flashes, 
falls upon the animal's front paws. Roaring with pain and fury, the beast 
rolls upon his back, and licks the stumps of his wounded legs. Again, like 
lightning, the scimitar plays. In a moment the lion's tongue is lying at the 
feet of the Sultan. With a last effort the wounded beast rises, open- 
mouthed. Philippe, seizing his opportunity, plunges the blade down the 
ravening throat. The great lion falls dead. Loud rings the applause of the 
crowd, as the hero, waving aloft his smoking weapon, cries, "Gloire a Notre 
Dame. Tant elle vaut ! " 

The Sultan, who loved courage first and last, descended into the arena, 
hung a rich chain about his prisoner's neck, and said : " Such valour deserves 
freedom. Return to your lady, and to your home." 

So the victorious Philippe reached France again, and, in poor man's guise, 
begging his bread by the way, came to Rochepot, on the day following the 

+ Sovereign Lady, of thy grace, 
Save me from this fearsome place, 
Where but cruelty is seen ; 
Come thou me and harm between, 
Pity all who seek thy face, 
Mother of God. 



^44 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

T^te des Trepass^s, the great Autumn festival that the Catholic church has 
appointed in celebration of the dead. There he found the castle all hung 
with black, and a great company mourning a living man's death. So he 
innade himself known, and sorrow changed into exceeding gieat joy. 

On the iith November, 1453, through the fresh warm air of a St. 
Martin's summer, a brilliant cortege issues from the Ducal Palace at Dijon, 
•and turns towards the church of Notre Dame. At their head rides Philippe 
le Bon, crowned with the crown of Burgundy, and wearing, about his neck 
and breast, the collar of the Golden Fleece, and a purple mantle, lined with 
ermine. He is leading by the arm a slim girl, veiled, and clothed in white. 
Behind them follows a young chevalier, in shining armour, with a lion's skin 
clasped upon his shoulder. 'Tis Philippe Pot; his feet still bleeding from 
the stones of the pilgrim way. In one hand he carries a candle, the other 
arm supports the Duchess of Burgundy, splendid in a robe of cloth of gold. 
Beside them walk two heralds-at-arms, one bearing a scimitar, the other a 
veiled picture. From balcony and window the people acclaim their passage : 
" Noel ! Noel P' 

They enter Notre Dame — its walls splendid with tapestries of Arras — and 
kneel in the chapel of Notre Dame de Bon-Espoir. Philippe lights hit 
candle, and places it upon the altar. The picture is uncovered, and hung 
before the black virgin. It shows the knight, under his Lady's protection, 
slaying the lion in the arena. Below are written the words — 

" Tant L vaut et a valu 
A celui qui a recouru 
A celle pour qui dit ce mot 
Le suppliant Philippe Pot 
Qui de tout mal I'a secouru 
TANT L VAUT." § 

Having accomplished his vow, the knight puts on his spurs. The Duke 

§ Great her worth was, aye, and is 
To her seekers all, I wis ; 
So of her he speaketh — so, 
The poor suppliant Philippe Pot — 
Shielding him from miseries, 

GKEAT HEK WORTH. 



246 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

of Burgundy approaches, embraces him, gives him the collar and mantle of 
the Toison d'Or. The fiancee is led forward. Lover and lady join hands, 
and — the due ceremonies accomplished — Philippe and his bride leave the 
church. 

" Noel ! Noel ! " shout the people. " Honneur au chevalier de Notre 
Dame!" 

Now you know why you may read, in letters of gold, upon the walls and 
windows of Philippe's castles — at Rochepot, at Chateau-neuf, and at others — 
that device— TANT L VAUT. * 



On our way home from Rochepot, we halted for a rest at Auxey le Grand, 
and dropped into an inn, where we found two workmen hobnobbing over a 
bottle of red wine. One of them — the listener- — was just an ordinary work- 
man; common, base, and popular, as Pistol would have said. His companion, 
however, was a man of mark — a handsome, bronzed rascal, whose fiercely 
curled moustache and Paderewski hair, well set off by enormously baggy 
corduroys, a scarlet belt, and a blue shirt, suggested the merry bandit of an 
Elizabethan drama. Our curiosity being aroused, we addressed the brigand, 
who was not slow to reveal his identity. He was one Francois Paulin, a 
vine-dresser, and no brigand, as he proved by the production of a greasy 
document, stating that "The administrative council of the Societ6 Vigneronne 
of the arrondissement of Beaune certifies that Monsieur Paulin (Francois) 
successfully passed the examinations of March 24th, 1889, and is skilled in 
pruning (apte a greffer) the vine, and in teaching that operation." Vines 
and vineyards naturally became our topic. 

" Ah!" said the brigand; " What a season we have had. Nothing but 
rain and cold, cold and rain ! It is just ruin for us poor workmen." He 
drained his glass, and put it down, with a tense Gallic movement of the arm. 
He failed, somehow, to convey the idea that he was ruined. Such are the 
triumphs of personality. 

* Those interested in Philippe Pot can find his tomb in the mediaeval gallery of 
the Louvre at Paris. It is one of the best monuments of its kind in existence, 
certainly inspired by the work of Claus Sluter, and possessing the dramatic 
qualities of that school. It was completed in 1477-1483. and placed originally 
in the Abbey of Citeaux. See picture on preceding page. 



SAINT MARTIN'S WELL 



247 



<3 



" Did the crop fail utterly hereabouts ? " I asked. 

"Utterly, Monsieur," said Mathilde Duhesme, the innkeeper's daughter, 
as she brought us our coffee. " Not a bunch of grapes." 

Mathilde was a perfectly charming French girl, of the type that you will 
come upon, here and there, even in the 
remotest part of that country. England 
breeds few such women, in her station 
of life. That easy, graceful manner, and 
natural amiability and dignity are found 
here — when they are found at all — only 
among the educated or the high-born. 

" Yes, yes; mon Dieu, you have come 
in the wrong year for the vines," said the 
brigand, thumping the table. " You 
should have chosen a good season. Then 
lots of visitors come. They come in 
carts, full of helles anges with gentlemen 
standing behind in top-hats. And they all 
take photographs. This very day we 
ought to have been in full vendange." 

His pride would have been solely hurt, had he guessed how little his 
description allured us. 

" Let's drink to a full vendange," said I. Mathilde ran off for another 
bottle. 

" What do you earn, you vignerons, in a good year?" 

" Four francs, and a litre of wine, per man, per day. And it is worth it; 
for we make good stuff here on the hillside, though this village of Auxey is 
the end of it. Yes, good wines !" 

" Tell me more about them," I said. 

" The best wines of all are called Aligote, and the second-best — still very 
good — are called Pinot. The boite ordinaire that grows away there in the 
plain, is called Gamay. When the Gamay is not red enough, we put it 
into some Otellot; that's as black as your hat, and colours the rest up 
beautifully. Do you drink much wine in your country. Monsieur?" 

" No, only the rich drink wine in our country. The poor never taste it. 
They drink mostly beer!" 




248 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

"Sapristi!" 

It was now our turn to be questioned. Mathilde, in particular, was very- 
much interested in my wife's appearance and clothes. Were we married? 
Were we married in church .? Why were we travelling ? Were the 
English peasantry poor, and were they provident .i* 

" More poor than provident," we said. 

" Ah! now; the French poor are provident. They kill one pig a year, 
and lose not a hair of it. First comes the bacon; the fat is used for preparing 
meat; the blood for pudding; the entrails for sausages. It lasts from winter 
to winter — ah, Madame is making a picture ! " 

Madame was sketching the brigand. 

" I shall put you into our book," said she. The brigand beamed approval. 
Five minutes later my wife thoughtlessly gave him the sketch. He tried nof 
to look hurt — he was not, then, to go into the book, after all. Her woman's 
readiness saved the situation. 

" I never forget what I have once drawn," she said. 

" Vous y serez quand meme." He was quite pacified. 

Then we left the men over their wine, while Mathilde took us the round 
of the church and village. She certainly was a charming person. I am not 
so sure that we shall live at Beaune after all. 



Lest we should entirely forget the Roman occupation that was so much 
in our minds at Autun, we decided to make a pilgrimage to Cussy, a village 
due west of Beaune, where the Romans have set up a column, in memory 
of an event, or of a person, unknown. If a motor car be not available, you 
can best get there by taking the steam tramway, between Beaune and Arnay 
-le-Duc, as far as Lusigny; thence by bicycle, or as you will. The journey 
is worth making, for the sake of the climb you get through the gorge of 
Nantoux, and up the valley of Mavilly, where the train mounts, by a series 
of steep zig-zags, into the heart of the Cote d'Or. The view that opens out 
is quite Swiss in quality and magnificence. You look from the summit of 
a gigantic devil's cauldron, down rocky steeps, shaped like cathedral organ- 
pipes, whose eerie mountain music cheers the vignerons at their work below. 
All this great expanse of brown, cliff-bound upland, dappled in spring-time 
with blossoming fruit trees, is curiously chequered by dark hedges and white 



SAINT MARTIN'S WELL 249 

serpentine roads. Stage by stage the land falls away from you, until all 
detail is lost, and far away, over range after range of shining hills, the bound- 
less plains of lower Burgundy merge imperceptibly into the sky. 

So the train pulfs up to the col, then rattles down into the quaint village 
of Lusigny. The road to Cussy climbs the opposite hill for two kilometres 
or so, before switchbacking through the village of Montceau to this lovely 
spot that the Romans, or Gallo-Romans, have so chosen to honour. 

Not a human being could we discover in all Cussy. Some destroying 
angel, I thought, must have passed over, leaving only chickens alive, and, by 
oversight, one old woman, of whose close-fitting, white cap we caught a 
glimpse through an open window. 

But my wife would not accept that solution. 

" No; there has been no destroying angel here. There has just been a 
most wicked old witch, who, in revenge for some insult, has changed all the 
villagers into ducks and hens. Let's speak to them. I'm sure they'll 
answer." 

She addressed a lanky, yellow hen, that had left scratching, to watch us. 
Poised on one leg it stood, with its head bent inquiringly. 

" Please, Mrs. Hen; can you tell me the way to the colonne.?" — only, of 
course, it being a French hen — if it was really a hen at all — she spoke to it 
in French. The hen moved its head to the other side. 

" La colonne, Madame, est la bas, dans la prairie." 

My wife danced for joy. It was a talking hen. The people were really 
bewitched ! " How lovely ! " But I knew all the time that she was wrong. 
The hen had not spoken — not a word. No such luck. It was that dark 
girl, who had been watching us from the shed by the house. So we just 
thanked her, for politeness sake, and walked sadly down the hill towards the 
Colonne, I looked round. The hen was scratching again. 

We found the Colonne at last — a fine one, of the composite Corinthian 
style, its shaft beautifully ornamented with the favourite Roman leaf pattern. 
Round the base are eight statues in relief. Every antiquary in the kingdom 
has puzzled his brains over the motif of this column; and, except Courtepee, 
who says that " selon toute apparence c'est un monument s^pulcral,"t 
and Lempereur and Montfau^on, who respectively believed it to be a Gaulish 
tomb, and a religious monument, all agree that it is in memory of a great 

t Description de Bourgogne, torn iii, p. 33. 



250 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

victory. But what victory? One has said that it commemorates the 
triumph of Caesar over the Helvetii B.C. 58; another that it vi^as raised by 
the Emperor Claude, conqueror of the Goths; others believe it to have been 
erected by the Aedui to Maximien Hercules, after his victory over the 
Bagaudes in 286 a.d.; finally the Burgundian, Girault, maintains that the 
monument remembers the victory of Silius over Sacrovir in 22 a.d. + 

Beyond expressing a doubt whether the column is of later date than 
100 A.D., and my conviction that it is triumphal not monumental, I venture 
no opinion upon any of these interesting theories. The antiquarians must 
settle that among themselves. 

Meanwhile, let me inform the visitor who may find himself there in the 
autumn, that blackberries of a very choice quality grow in those prairies of 
the Colonne. I devoured them steadily, while the cows chewed their cud, 
and my wife sketched. She sketched; but she was not happy, as she usually 
is when thus occupied. A cruel wind came out of the north, and chilled 
her to the bone. She shivered; almost she wept. I, too, in spite of black- 
berries, was all comfortless within, and felt an uncanny sensation in the 
small of my back. 

" Come along, Marjorie; you were quite right. It was the hen who 
spoke. This place is bewitched." She cheered up. 

" How lovely ! I was so afraid witches had quite died out." 



Then we went home in the gloaming, by the same plucky, cheerful, little 
train that puffed up the hills, and chattered tumbling down them. Opposite 
to us, in the dimly-lit, bare apartment, a fat farmer and a slim little sister of 
mercy slept, nodding in time to the jerks and vibrations that shook them from 
head to foot. 

At the first station a wrinkled old woman, leaning out of the window, held 
so animated a debate with another on the platform, concerning peaches, that 
tf'C company were constrained to chip in, as one may do in democratic 
France. Across the compartment came the laconic tones of an unseen 
listener. 

Twenty sous the livre, for peaches! eh! ma foil" 

The train started, snorting violently; the old lady sat, firm-lipped, vigilant- 

+ " Lettre sur les Richesses historiques de la Bourgogne." Abel Jeandet. 



252 BURGUNDY . THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

ly on guard among her baskets of fruit. There arose around her a runni.ig 
commentary concerning peaches, and the ethics of trade therein. 

" Moi, je vous dis " — " Eh bien moi je vous dis . . . ." 

" And half of them were rotten — the robber!" " Et quand m^me!" 
The old lady defended herself warmly. 

' Rattle, rattle, rattle," commented the train, as it plunged downhill into 
the pitchy darkness of the valley of Nantoux. Still the passengers babbled. 
I grew weary of it, and my dreams went back to St. Martin, and the 
Christianity he planted there. Were they really honest, these chattering 
peasants ? I thought of all the bad money palmed off on us in Burgundy — 
the Italian, Spanish, Belgian rubbish; any coin at all that your carelessness 
or trustfulness will accept. I thought of the lumps of lead unblushingly 
handed to me in the dark by a Paris cabman, on the steps of St. Lazare. I 
thought ... I yawned ... I joined the fat farmer and the slim 
nun in dreamland. 

" Beaune Ville!" said the guard. And the drowsy company searched 
vacantly — every man for his pack. 



During a hunt for Burgundian lore and legend among the libraries of 
Beaune, we found ourselves in conversation with a very entertaining book- 
seller, who described to us his boyhood holidays in the valley of Nantoux, 
and the legendary haunts of St. Martin. 

" Many a summer afternoon," he said, " we spent climbing the valley 
hills, and playing upon the rock in which is St. Martin's well; and never 
once, not even in the hottest summers — and some were very hot — did we 
find the well dry. Always there was water in it. I cannot tell why. But 
it was so." 

Next morning I mounted my bicycle, and went to see for myself, whether, 
after a week of cloudless October skies, I should find water in St. Martin's 
well. 

Following the valley road as far as Pommard — every name hereabouts is 
borrowed unblushingly from a wine-list — you turn northward, and, always 
following the railway, come to the little, grey village of Nantoux, where the 
valley narows, until you see, on your right, almost overhanging the road, a 
ridge of jagged, grey rock, crossing the sparsely-wooded hill. Just before 



SAINT MARTIN'S WELL 253 

it, on the Nantoux side, at a rather lower elevation, projects another shoulder 
of the rock. There is the Puits de St. Martin. 

If you call a passer-by, or one of the workmen in the roadside quarries, he 
will show you the way, or take you up. It is not very easy to find without 
help. You pass the overhanging cliff, and take a narrow path, at the first 
bend of the road; not the wider one at the top of the slight ascent. I 
enlisted the services of a brawny, good-tempered, blue-trousered young 
quarryman, who landed me in a trice upon the terrace of weather-worn 
rock, known locally as the Saut (leap) de St. Martin. As I stood facing the 
gorge, my guide pointed to an oval-shaped, red-edged basin, not a foot in 
diameter, filled, to within a few inches of the surface, with clear water. 

" That is St. Martin's Well, Monsieur; it is never empty. And see, here 
beside it is the mark of his horse's hoofs clear-cut in the rock. Those long 
marks there were made by the lash of his whip. There are more hoof-prints 
nearer the edge. He jumped clean across, in one bound. Ma foi ! it needed 
jarrets ! " 

We looked down at the rough-hewn gashes in the limestone. Gold-green 
mosses, ivy, and warm, red rock plants were creeping out from every cranny 
of the terrace, where of old the people beset St. Martin. Elderberry bushes 
trembled in the breeze. 

" Now look down the valley, Monsieur ! There is Nantoux, towards the 
midi where the rains come from. No rain while the sky is clear there. 
Come now, and see the view up the valley." 

Climbing to the topmost northward ridge, we found ourselves standing 
before a majestic amphitheatre of dusky, brown hills of the Cote d'Or, 
whose threatening, almost terrible, aspect suggested rather the wicked brew 
of a devil's cauldron, than the juice of the merry vines over which black 
spider workmen were bending. Threatening clouds, driven before a rising 
wind, darkened with flying shadows the narrow roads that serpented up to 
the lofty, lonely villages of Mavilly and Mandelot. A rumbling sound 
broke the silence. Below us we saw, writhing and snorting up the hill, 
like a legendary, fire-breathing demon, a black train, fouling with wreaths 
of purple smoke the lovely valley of Nantoux. 

We returned to the Puits de St. Martin. Sitting on the very edge of the 
cliff, we looked across at the wooded hill where the Saint alit, and down the 
road, over the scrub, the vines, and the red quarries, still echoing the sound 



SAINT MARTIN'S WELL 255 

of the pick; over the winding row of silvery willows and dark alders that 
mark the valley stream bubbling towards the welcoming roofs of Beaune. 

There, in the very spot where it happened, the young quarryman told me 
the story of St. Martin's Well. But I shall tell it you in my words, not 
his — for story-telling was not his forte. 

In the second century of the Christian era, Saint Benigne and his com- 
panions, coming from Asia, brought the Gospel of Christ into Burgundy. 
The good news spread rapidly through the towns, but gained only a slow 
hearing in the villages and the hamlets. Idol worship, driven from the cities, 
found refuge among the remote hills and valleys of the land. 

Mavilly, which, for centuries past, had possessed a college of Druids, re- 
mained faithful to its gods, its priests, and its temple. Vauchignon, too, 
whose hills, rocks, and woods, full of murmuring sounds and mysterious 
terrors, was one of those natural sanctuaries dear to the heart of the Gaul, 
still practised the heathen cult. * 

It is a warm autumn day; the holy missionary. Saint Martin, whose good 
horse has borne him over the rugged mountain which rises between Mavilly 
and the plain, has passed, one by one, through the villages of the Cote d'Or. 
At a crossing of the ways, in the midst of a great wood, he meets a little, 
ragged, red-haired man, with fiery eyes and an anxious countenance. The 
bishop offers him alms. 

" Keep your silver piece," replies the stranger, " for I am more rich than 
you." 

Saint Martin, taking him for a herdsman of the country, asks him the 
way to Mavilly. 

" I know your object," replies the unknown man, laying hold upon the 
horse's bridle, " and I will be your guide." 

They go on in silence, and come, at length, to the slope of a vine-covered 
hill where peasants are busy at the vintage. Martin, like Boaz of old in the 
fields, salutes them : — "The Lord be with you ! " 

" Vintagers!" cries the guide, " Come hither in haste; I bring you the 
great enemy of the gods. This man, on his way, destroys their statues and 
breaks down their altars; he is come to destroy the temple that is the glory 
and safety of your country. Rise and defend your gods ! " 

* St. Martin, bishop of Tours, who visited Burgundy, probably in the year 376 A.D., 
was mainly instrumental in putting an end to Paganism among the Gauls. 



256 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

The angry peasants come running towards the speaker. They surround 
the Saint and threaten him with the billhooks with which they are cutting 
the grapes. Serenely the aged bishop looks round upon them; his calmness 
disarms their anger. He is about to speak to them, but the red man knows 
well that his cause is lost, if once the missionary obtains a hearing. 

" Let us shut his impious mouth!" he cries to the vintagers. " His 
blasphemies will bring down upon us the wrath of heaven. Cry aloud, 
* Death ! death to the denouncer of the gods ! Away with him to the edge 
of the cliff, and hurl him down into the torrent ! " 

Loud rise the angry shouts of the crowd, as the guide leads away the 
horse. Already they have reached the brink of the abyss. All is over; the 
saint must die. Hemmed about on all sides, Martin cries : 

" Come to my aid, O my God! make haste to help me!" 

He signs himself with the cross, strikes, with his whip, the rock and 
the flanks of his horse. The animal, with one mighty bound, clears the 
valley, and alights upon the opposite peak. Immediately, around the spot 
which he has just left, the earth trembles with an awful rending sound; a 
rock is torn from the flank of the hill, and plunges into the torrent beneath, 
bearing with it the false prophet, whose fall is marked by a flash of sul- 
phurous lightning. The troubled waters boil and bubble, as they close 
over his body. 

At the sight of such wonders, the vintagers stand dumb with astonishment. 
Imprinted upon the granite rock they see the stroke of the rider's whip, and 
the hoof-print of his horse, from which, already, a stream of limpid water is 
flowing. 

The old man, calm and majestic as before, standing motionless upon the 
opposite peak, casts upon the peasants a compassionate glance. Terror- 
stricken, they acclaim him a divine being. Then, swarming down the moun- 
tam path to the valley, they climb the opposite peak, and again surround him. 
But, this time, they lie prostrate at his feet, and, with prayers for pardon, 
are about to adore him. 

" Rise," says the bishop; " I am but a mortal, a vintager of Christ; and 
your souls are the grapes I have come to gather in His name." 

He bids them sit down upon the hill side, and there, before the temple of 
the false gods, on the brink of the abyss into which Satan fell lightning- 
struck, he speaks to them of the emptiness of their past worship, and reveals 



SAINT MARTIN'S WELL 



257 



the power, the beauty, and the tenderness of the God of the Gospel. The 
peasants, won at last from Paganism, descend to the temple, overthrow the 
images, and bury them in many a deep trench, f They would destroy the 
temple itself, but the pontiff restrains them. 

" Not so; let us offer it to the true God, as a trophy won from the powers 
of darkness; let Jesus be adored upon the altar whence Jupiter has fallen; 
and let the Virgin Immaculate stand in the place of Venus." 

" Be it so," replies the crowd, with one voice; " Let Christ reign and rule, 
here where He has overthrown the Devil." 




t The debris referred to were discovered in the i8th century. Among the images 
identified were those of Jupiter, Neptune, Minerva, Pan, Vulcan, Venus, Apollo, 
Diana, and Esculapius. Histoire de Beaune. M. Rossignol, p. 39. 




CHAPTER XVIII 



The little town of Verdun sur le Doubs has no particular attraction for ihe 
archeologist nor for the tourist, yet it is a place with which all visitors to 
Beaune who wish to keep themselves in touch with the real Burgundy, with 
the life of the village and the ville de Canton, as well as with the larger 
movements of the great cities, cannot afford to neglect. 

For myself, the little town will always be associated with happy souvenirs, 
and with gracious pictures of country life, as it has been since first I rode 
there, on a warm September afternoon, along a pleasant, undulating road, 
through typical, low-lying lands of fertile Burgundy, sometimes running 
quite straight for several kilometres, sometimes curving slightly through 
golden vineyards, and fields of bearded maize, and crimson clover. I passed 
through St. Loup, a village with a delightful Romanesque church, and 
through other attractive hamlets crowned with Gothic towers; by hay fields, 
where a late second crop was being taken in, by rich arable lands, where 
yoked oxen were ploughing with attendant women clearing the way for the 
plough-share with a stick. I passed patches of fragrant wild flowers, and ill 
weeds growing in tangled masses by the road side, by rich grasses that lean 
cattle were stolidly munching. 

One of the boys who looked after them was singing a song. I could not 
catch the words exactly, nor the air, but I fitted the snatch of melody to the 
best of all Burgundian folk-songs, an exquisite little poem with a curious and 
very pretty history, that I am going to tell. This is the song. It is sung 
to-day, with local variations, not by the shepherds of Burgundy only, but 
throughout all France almost; in Dauphin^, in Champagne, in the lonely 
forests of the Ardennes. 



IN RURAL BURGUNDY 259 

Eho! ^ho! ^ho! 

Les agneaux vont aux plaines, 

Eho ! eho ! eho ! 

Et les loups sont aux bos. 

Tant qu'aux bords des fontaines, 
Ou dans les frais ruisseaux 
Les moutons baign'nt leur laine, 
I dansont au pr^au. 
Eho! ^ho! eho! 

Mais, queq'fois par vingtaines 
I s'^loign'nt des troupeaux 
Pour aller sous les chenes 
Qu'ri des herbag's nouviaux. 
Eho I eho! eho! 

T'es mon agneau, ma reine; 
Les grand's vill's, c'est les bos... 
Par ainsi done Mad'leine 
N't'en vas pas du hameau. 
Eho ! eho ! eho ! 

Et ses ombres lointaines 
Leurs y cach'nt leurs bourreaux; 
Car, malgr^ leurs plaint's vaines, 
Les loups croqu'ent les agneaux. 
Eho ! eho ! eho ! 

Eho! ^ho! ^ho! 

Les agneaux vont aux plaines 

Eho! ^ho! ^ho! 

Et les loups sont aux bos. 

The French is so simple that, though I have appended no translation, 
nearly all my readers will be able to feel some of the charm and lilt of the 
onginal. 



26o BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

Generally speaking, of course, a folk song is not the work of one individual, 
but of many; it is essentially a local product, that grows with the years, 
and reflects truly the spirit of the land which gave it birth. Yet, strangely 
enough, this particular song, though it has all the virtues of its kind — the 
simplicity, the melody, the descriptive, pastoral, and amorous characteristics 
of a semi-southern race — is an exception to the general rule. 

When it first appeared, in 1 840, in the Burgundian section of an important 
work, "Les Francais peint par eux-memes," the whole French nation wel- 
comed it as one of the best of its kind; and other provinces, as I have said, 
did not hesitate to adopt it. It was held to be one of the most naive, and 
authentically popular songs of all Burgundy, — Burgundy itself, even, had no 
doubt whatever upon the subject. It was discussed everywhere in literary- 
circles; and that eminent writer, M. Catulle Mendes, one evening, in the- 
presence of many other French literateurs, openly expressed the opinion that 
it was written by a young Burgundian shepherd, very much in love. Then 
a strange thing happened. One of the oldest men present, the Burgundian 
poet, M. Francois Fertiault, walked up to Mendes, and said, with a smile : 
"Eh, bien Monsieur, then I am that young Burgundian shepherd." 

All the world wondered. The thing was impossible ! It was not im- 
possible; it was true. Indeed, rightly regarded, it was simple, and natural. 
M. Fertiault, living among the peasants and loving them, had absorbed all 
that of which the folk song is born. The poetic spirit of a rural people had, 
indeed, passed into him. What he had heard sung within him, he wrote. 
M. Fertiault, still hale and hearty, after ninety seven years of active life, 
told us the story himself, in his library, in the Rue Clausel, at Paris. 

"I had to get material for this work," he said; "And though, for a dance 
song, I had ready a Bourr^e Charollaise, and for a religious song, one of De 
La Monnoye's Noels Bourguignons, I could find no example of the Chanson, 
properly so called; nothing, nothing at all, that was complete enough to be 
representative. The first part of my article was already published; the 
remainder must go to press. What could I do ? Then an idea came to me. 
Only to attempt to carry it out was absurd. A minute later the attempt 
seemed to be audacious; then merely bold; then perfectly possible. Soon 
I knew that I must do it. The idea was growing in my brain. I felt some- 
thing at work here (tapping his forehead), something alive. I could see my 
country; I could see my peasants. I was listening, listening. It all came 



262 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

to me — an impression straight from life, with the scent of the fields in it. 
I heard couplets, and a refrain. Yes, through the sweetness of the dream, 
came a song. I heard words and music. 

For the words it was simple enough; but what to do for the tune? 
Technically I was ignorant of music; I could not read the hieroglyphics that 
are the language of Gounod and Rossini. I thought. Then I remembered 
Scheffer; he knew of my search for a song. He would understand. It was 
nearly eleven at night. With a feverish hand I was knocking at Scheffer's 
door. 

"You are not in bed?" 

"Not yet; but it's about time." 

"Are you sleepy?" 

"I could be— if I liked." 

"In that case, let me come in." My friendly neighbour opened wide the 
door of his room. I hurried in. 

"What is it?" said he, briskly. 

"I have got my Burgundian song," said I, with an air of triumph. 

"Bravo! Where did you unearth it?" 

"I didn't. I made it. And as it needs you, here it is." Scheffer stood 
in unspeakable astonishment. I told him my story. Then I added : "My 
crime is double, — the air came to me with the words." My neighbour's 
eyes opened wide. He thought me very mad indeed. "And," I added, 
"musician that I am, I bring you my air; I can hear it buzzing in my head; 
but my throat will not translate it properly." 

"What shall we do?" said he. 

"I will hum it over to you, and we will piece it together on the piano." 

"Bon. J'y suis. And together it was done — well done. We kept 
silence. The next day the compositors were busy; and soon everyone was 
reading the Burgundian Folk-Song, 'Eho.' I had succeeded." Now you 
understand why one remembers a dejeuner with Franfois Fertiault.f 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Here we are at the shining Saone, crossed by a suspension bridge that rocks 
under the weight of every carriage we meet; and here, at the end of the 
long avenue of poplars, beside the junction of the two rivers, is Verdun sur- 
le-Doubs. 

t" L'Histoire d'un Chant Populaire." F. Fertiault. 



IN RURAL BURGUNDY 



263 



Now that we are here I do not know that I have much to say about the 
town itself, except that it is a peaceful little place, lying snugly beside its 
waters that flow over golden sands.* In the 14th century, however, Verdun 
was a bonne ville fermee, one of the most ancient baronies of Burgundy, with 
fortress, fairs, markets, fiefs, vassals, and all the other appointments of a 




-A- 



mediaeval town; but the tides of war, sweeping, time after time, over this 
part of the country, have left not even a ruin to remind us of its past. 

Yet some incidents of that past are worth remembering; notably the siege 
of 1350, following on a disastrous war between the Sieurs de Viennes and 
the Seigneurs de Verdun, and again, in 1477 and 1478, when the Verdunois, 
always prominent in their adherence to the Burgundian cause, refused to 
accept the merger of their province into Louis XL's great kingdom of 
France. 

But the most memorable of all the bloody scenes in which Verdun has 
played a part, was the great struggle of 1592, when the little town, the 
strongest holding for Henry IV. in all Burgundy, sustained a desperate attack 
under the Ligueurs, commanded by the Vicomte de Tavannes. At the head 
of the Verdunois was Heliodore de Thiard de Bissy, and his brave wife, 
Marguerite de Busseul-Saint-Sernin, v/ho, to sustain the courage of the 
defenders, voluntarily shared the fatigues and dangers of the fight. She took 

*Abel Jeandet, in the Feuilleton de Paris, March 1851, records several historical 
instances of the discovery of gold in the sands of Doubs. 



264 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

upon herself the duty of distributing, with her own hands, powder and 
ammunition to her soldiers; until a spark set light to the barrels, and the 
brave girl, blown to pieces, met a warrior's death. Young, beautiful, 
generous, intrepid, and of noble birth, though she was, her heroic deed, by 
some strange caprice of destiny, has not rescued her name from oblivion. 

But the thoughts uppermost in my mind, in connection with Verdun, are 
not historical, nor are they archaeological. They hover rather about rural 
Burgundy; the folk-lore, the old superstitions, and the intimate life of the 
peasants, such as that of which M. Fertiault has made such good use in his 
charming little story "The First of March." 

Every year on the last day of February, when they think it will soon be 
midnight, the women of the village leave their beds — I mean, of course, the 
young women, the maids, with roses in their cheeks, and love in their hearts 
— and await impatiently the first minute of the first hour of March, the 
decisive minute for them. At the first stroke from the belfry tower their 
windows fly open, each girl leans out, and whispers in the darkness her prayer 
to Mars: "Bonjour, Mars; Comment te portes-tu Mars? Montre-moi dans 
mon dormant celui que j'aurai dans mon vivant."t 

Then they go back to bed, and their lovers come floating into their 
dreams.* 

Not very long ago in Arcy, the hamlet which gave its name to the famous 
grottos that so many travellers have visited and described, dwelt two splen- 
did cocks, whose voices were the pride of the village. But a day came when 
they were heard no more. The birds stood downcast, each upon his 
favourite waste-heap, wheezing vainly from a voiceless throat. Then it was 
known that they had been bewitched by a wicked sorcerer. Their owner 
was in consternation. For who would wake him now in the morning and 
hearten him cheerily for his day's work? So he went off to discuss his 
trouble with one in the village who was known to be wise in these matters; 
and this man told him at once the remedy. 

"You must give the cocks," he said, "barley cooked at the rising of the 
moon." The owner went home straightway; did as he was bid, and in the 
grey light of the following morning, to his great joy, he was awakened by 

+ " Good morning, Mars. How are you Mars? Show me in my sleep him I am to 
have in my waking life." This is an interesting poetical relic of pagan worship. 
* " Le Premier de Mars " by F. Fertiault, published in the Feuilleton de Paris. 




■s 



IN RURAL BURGUNDY 265 

his two chanticleers announcing lustily, from rival dung-heaps, the coming 
of the dawn. 

Not less fantastic, nor less poetical in conception, are some of the measures 
adopted for the cure of personal ills. "Indeed," says M. Fertiault, "it is 
difficult to conceive the amount of imaginative labour these rustic intelli- 
gencies impose upon themselves, in their efforts to heal those who are dear 
to them. They vie with one another in rummaging among old customs, to 
find the best cure. Antoinette will take her sick Pierre to the church, and, 
somehow or other, holding him by the hands and under the arms, will lead 
him nine times round the altar so that health may come again; well she 
knows, too, what healing virtue there is, for children's fevers, in the sweet 
odour of hawthorn in spring; for did not the murderers of Christ weave for 
him a crown of thorns."+ 

It is around such places as Verdun, where the mind is not too much dis- 
tracted by archaeological interests, that one's thoughts can escape from the 
town, into the fertile surrounding lands, and picture scenes that M. Fertiault 
has described for us so vividly, such as the autumn fete of the grand teillage 
when they work far into the night, beside the great bonfires, the boys and 
girls sitting around the piles of hemp. The work goes ahead speedily; and 
much chaffing and many a merry jest inspire deft fingers to outdo one another 
in peeling the hemp. The little mountains grow smaller, disappear. The 
workers gather up what is left of the peeled stalks, and pile them upon the 
fire which blazes again into a feu de joie. All dance round it gleefully; 
some even jump through the tongues of flame, believing that courage will 
make them incombustible. Then each takes his girl, and together they go 
home through the autumn night, the maid and the boy she had seen in her 
dreams six months ago, when, with her long hair falling about her face, she 
had leaned from the window, to say "Good-morning" to March. And as 
they go, they sing : 

"Le mariage fait heureux 
Les Amoureux." 

"And if ever one day you love me less than you love me to-night?" 

"Eh ben ! ma foi ? 

"Eh ben! Pierre je mourrais." 'Tis time to say "Good-night" ft 

the cottage gate. 

+ " En Bourgogne." 



266 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

Or it is a winter scene that comes. The copper lamp, hanging from a 
beam, does its best, though not quite successfully, to play the part of the 
moon upon a harvest field. Catherine plies her distaff busily, making her 
bobbin hum; Toinette knits, steadily as a machine, a thick, woollen stock- 
ing; Jacquot mends, with osier rushes, a basket for next summer's vintage. 
Justin, sitting with his face to the back of his chair, is cutting, upon the blade 
of an iron shovel, bunches of maize, of which the grains go raining down 
and dancing up from the heaps in the vessel below. The old father, Claude, 
does just nothing at all. A long life of hard work has well earned him some 
idle hours; and he is content to sit and doze by the fireside; just throwing 
in a word now and again ; when the right cord is struck, or something reminds 
him of a story of his early escapades, in the days when he was as Jacquot 
is — with a good hand for the plough, a good heart for the girls, and a good 
stomach for a bowl of la Pochouse.* 

So, through the quiet round of French rustic life, the generations are born, 
are married, and pass again to the keeping of the earth that kept them. 

The second of these episodes, marriage, in a family of any consequence, 
in the olden time, was a charmingly elaborate and picturesque function. 
Much of the poetry of it has now passed for ever; though, a few years back, 
a prominent citizen of the locality decided to revive all the ceremonies at his 
daughter's wedding, and did so with complete success. 

I have not the space here to describe in detail, as I would — as M. Ferti- 
ault has done so effectively in "Une Noce d'Autrefois en Bourgogne," — all 
that took place. But I cannot pass it by wholly in silence. 

The wedding festivities extend over three days. The first day is full of 
processions, and fife and drum, and flying ribbons, and sweetmeats, and 
official journeys to summon from their abodes the Dames d'honneur, who 
attend upon the bride. Then comes the municipal ceremony at the mairie 
— the official marriage — and then the return to the Hotel des Trois Maures, 
where the bride and bridegroom, who, all the time have been scattering 
sweetmeats right and left, receive, in their turn, an aspersion of grains of 
corn, which come showering down upon them from the upper windows. 
This is the ceremony of "Sowing the epouses "; the golden rain is a bless- 
ing upon the marriage, a poetical invocation of the good-will of Plenty's 
Goddess. 

* A national dish of fresh-water fish cooked in white wine and seasoned with garlic 
and aromatic herbs. It is not unlike the provenfal bouillabaisse. 




fWf\/ 










268 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

"Scarcity and want shall shun you 
Ceres' blessing now is on you." 

Then before the spread feast, comes the trempeCy the health-drinking, « 
very significant function in a wine country. But first they clink glasses — 
for franc Bourguignon, on ne boit jamais sans trinquer — and having drunk, 
clink again, and all relatives and intimates — relatives embrace cousins, as the 
boy's latin book darkly hints — give the bride the baiser de la tremp^e. 

Then there is feasting, more healths, more music; then a general cry for 
the farandole, and in an instant they are wreathing it, uninvited and all, in 
hall, and lane, and street; fife and tambourine and flying feet are at it with 
an 61an that even that sunny land of song and dance, Provence, would find 
it hard to equal. In the evening there is a great ball given to the guests, 
and, on the next days, more processions, and a ball for the uninvited, at which 
the bride and bridegroom appear for a few minutes, open the dancing with a 
contre-danse, and then withdraw. 

The third day's round is somewhat similar, but there are fewer ladies 
present — many of them have had enough — and one notices, walking behind 
the drums and fifes, an individual carrying a laurel — not a branch, but a bush, 
well-grown and decked with ribbons. At the maison paternelle a halt is 
made, and all gather round to admire the laurel. Then he calls for the 
strongest volunteers to assist the bearer. 

"Are you ready, you six ? " "Yes," in six voices. 

"You know the job is none so easy — dangerous too.?" 

"No fun if it wasn't." 

"To it, then." 

"Tie it well!" 

"And as high as you can ! " 

"Come down now — and take care ! " 

They have to tie the laurel to the highest chimney of the house. 

They mount gaily, for they are very excited, and, moreover, have a bottle 
with them, a bottle of good wine; good, sparkling, red wine that is pushing 
at the cork. They are going to sprinkle the tree with it. Happy tree! 

But the boys have had their share these days — tis fairly the tree's turn. 
So they mount to the roof, called the lid in the locality. 

"Not too steep, is it?" 

"Not a bit." 



IN RURAL BURGUNDY 269 

"Can you stick it?" 

"Rather — comfortable as an armchair!" At last it is done, well done, 
with a good stout cord. 

"Look out for the baskets, John!" John pours prodigally, till the wine 
is trickling down the wall, and making a little rivulet in the street. 

"Long life to the laurel" yell the five others. "Long life to the porteur." 

"A la sant^ des camarades." 

All glasses are charged; then comes the clash of a trinquade, and, in an 
instant, every glass is drained. Jests fly about, and laughter. There is more 
drinking, more trinquades. 

"La ronde, the round of the laurel ! Allons!" 

"Hands for the round — and hold tight." 

Beating time with their feet, they dance round the chimney, until the 
tiles resound, singing : 

II est plants, le laurier; 

Le bon vin I'arrose. 
Qu'il amene aux marines 
Manage tout rose! 
Tout rose. 
Tout rose. 

Autour buvons et chantons; 

Ayons I'ime en joie ! 
Qu'en gen til rejeton 
La m^re se voit 
Se voie, 
Se voie! 

Que le rejeton grandi 
Plus tard se marie. 
Pour qu'un laurier reverdi 
Leux charme la vie ! 
La vie. 
La vie! 



270 BURGUNDY . THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

Que des ans et puis des ans 

Passent sur leur tete ! 

Et nous, sur ce Toit plaisant, 
C^lebrons la fete. 
La fete, 
La fete! 

The laurel is well fixed, the drums cease. From every window of the 
house, besieged by the gamins, pours down a shower of sugar plums. The 
timid ones get what they can, the greedy fight and struggle. After the mass 
it is still worse; there is many a sore head for souvenir. Fameux! Fameux 
les enfants ! But the thing has been mightily well done. 

While we are talking about these ancient customs, let us spare a word or 




• (MMIM f CJOM* 



two for the tongue which was heard through so many of them — the patois. 
The Burgundian patois, to use Sainte-Beuve's picturesque expression — "a eu 
des malheurs "; it has never become a living language as the Breton and the 
Provencal have, and is therefore doomed, I suppose, to early destruction; as 
its older devotees die off, and the young peasant, versed in the language of 
towns, learns to despise his father's tongue. 



IN RURAL BURGUNDY 271 

M. Perrault-Dabot, in his excellent little work on the subject,* tells us 
that, as might have been expected, all the many races that have inhabited or 
influenced Burgundy — the Eduens, the Romans, the Flemish — have left their 
traces upon its local tongue. Its chief defect, he adds, is that, like the 
country itself, half plain half mountain, it lacks unity. Placed between the 
two great centres of the Langue d'Oil and Langue d'Oc, it has naturally 
drawn from both. In accent, its chief characteristics are vivacity, expression, 
and charm; it comes between the northern lisp and the resonant redundance 
of the southern tongue, and is spoken in a sing-song manner not easily ren- 
dered typographically. It has many peculiar words, phrases, and idioms, but 
does not appear to have taken definite form until the seventeenth and 
eighteenth centuries, when it was spoken in all the provinces of eastern and 
central France, and also in the Canton of Geneva (Switzerland), which once 
formed part of the ancient kingdom of Burgundy. 

To the practised ear, a Burgundian reveals his origin at once, by the way 
he pronounces his a's. A becomes a (ah) in all words such as cave, table, 
Jacques, terminated by a dumb syllable, and the O is shortened in all words 
ending in ot or op, such as gigot or sirop. 

The Burgundian offers no exception to the general rule that the words 
peculiar to a dialect are often very beautiful. Provence gives us " voun, 
voun " for the hum of the bees, Normandy gives us " boisettes " for the dead 
sticks that the peasants gather for faggots; while from Burgundy we get 
"■ faublette " for a little tale. For " beggar," instead of a brutal word like 
" mendiant," they say " cherchou de pain." There is purity in their 
dialect, as in their customs. 

While writing these pages upon the old creeds and customs of rustic 
Burgundy, I have felt strongly, as a foreigner, my inefficiency for such a task, 
and have wished that I could hand over my pen to the Burgundian poet, my 
friend, M. Francois Fertiault, by whose kind permission I am able to make 
use of so much material that is his, and to whom any merit there may be 'n 
this chapter is wholly due. Had his still firm and active, though aged hand, 
taken up my task, my readers would well have been able to say, as the 
peasants of Burgundy, with one voice, have said of his work : "Y^ ben vri 
qu' tout c'qui s'passe cheu nous." 

* " La Patois Bourguignon " A. Perrault-Dabot. 



CHAPTER XIX 

When the train from Bourg had left the valley, and commenced its 
mountainous passage across the Jura, en route for Nantua, we felt that, his- 
torically, if not geographically, we were leaving Burgundy for an inter- 
mediate land that, while ceasing to be France, was not quite Switzerland. 
Yet, for all that, the journey is worth making, for the sake of the loveliness 
of the hills, and the links it forms in your mind between what you have left, 
and the regions of lake and mountain that once formed part of the old King- 
dom of Burgundy. 

The passage of the viaduct over the Suran soon reconciles you to the 
Cimmerian darkness of Jura tunnels. Hundreds of feet below winds the 
blue river mackerel-backed, beside terraced lawns of rich, green grass, between 
banks of dark fir-wood, through which silvery, snowy waterfalls come 
swirling and splashing down to the valley stream. 

Almost equally beautiful is the crossing of the Ain that follows. At 
length, after some fifty kilometres of charming surprises, you leave La Cluse 
and jog onward, until the bend of the line shows you the red roofs and white 
church-tower of the little town of Nantua reflected in the dark waters of 
the placid lake, ringed round with upland meadows, and steep, fir-clad hills. 

Here, for a few days, we ceased to see things. We just idled, lounged, 
looked on. Only too soon we learned that this is not Burgundy, but a 
pocket edition of Switzerland, a tourist resort, where the hotel is more expen- 
sive, and the gamins hail you with cries of "Oh! yes!" But if this spot has 
Swiss drawbacks, it has Swiss beauties, too; ce que est d^ja quelque chose. 



A LAKE IN THE JURA 273 

It was on a lovely autumn morning, that, after a breakfast made memor- 
able by mountain honey, we climbed the hills above the town, and basked 
in the rays of the sun, that shone from a cloudless sky. Such sun-heat has 
not been felt in Burgundy all this frozen summer and vineless fall. We 
bathed in it with infinite joy. Below us flickered, golden green, the grasses 
of an upland meadow, where the hay-makers were busy raking over the last 
crop. Lower down, across a fringe of branches tossing in the north wind, 
shone in soft, warm colours, grey, brown, and red, the roofs and walls of 
ancient Nantua, crowned with the tower of the Romanesque Church, whose 
sides and sculptured shafts and capitals challenged, in the fierce morning 
light, the pitchy shadows that lurked in every rounded arch. 

Through the angle, formed by the tower and the mottled roof of the nave, 
one caught a glimpse of shops in the main street. From the gable of one of 
them flapped the tricolor flag of France People passed beneath it — black 
specks, like flies walking. Beyond lay the blue lake, breeze-ruffled, striped 
like a fish's back in shades of azure and grey, passing now and then into buflF 
and yellow, where the waters reflected the naked rock — the whole framed, 
hemmed in by rugged cliffs, whose lower slopes are clothed in scrub and 
trees of every tint, from black to green and gold. The topmost rocks — 
jagged, bare, vertical faces broken with black patches, and streaked, on the 
sunny side, with bright, zig-zag paths — threaten the town and lake beneath. 
Unbroken shadows still enveloping the eastern cliffs, throw into stronger 
relief the gleaming water, and opposite shore quivering in the morning light. 
Westward only can the eye escape from these rugged beauties to the gentler 
slopes of the Jura beyond La Cluse. 

Wandering dream-hunter that I am, it is there that I find myself gazing, 
at these shining, shining waters, and beyond them, to the real Burgundy, to 
the memories of her glorious past still lingering in the Palace of Dijon, and 
the mother abbeys of the west. While my wife sketched Nantua, and 
envied the hay-makers their arms, I thought of Cluny and of Citeaux, of 
things, in fact, symbolized in that Romanesque tower below. 

Walking through the town, on our way back to our hotel, we entered n. 
shop, and nearly fell over a small child — some seven years old — who was 
playing on the doormat with shells and bits of glass. She jumped up at once, 
adjusted her long, straight, red hair, worn in two plaits; and turned to iis a 
round, sweet, intelligent little face. 



mmmmmt''0iSM9imm^m 



mtmsaaiti^memimtiit^iytvrr -miantmmti^maauh 



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A LAKE IN THE JURA 275 

" Bonjour, Monsieur et Dame ! " she said. 

" Bonjour, Mademoiselle," we replied; and looked round for the shop- 
keeper. There was no other. This was the shop-keeper — this baby, with 
the sweet face and red plaits; now a woman, official, dignified, alert. 

" You desire post-cards, 'Sieur et Dame? Here is a tray-full — please 
choose." 

We chose. Our dame de comptoir looked on, graciously. The cards 
were handed to her to count : The little red head was ready first with the 
figure. 

"Ca fait dix-neuf sous, Monsieur. Yes, I have change. Do you desire 
stamps?" Stamps and change were instantly forthcoming. 

"Viola, Bonjour M'sieur-Dame!" 

From twenty yards away we looked back. A sweet child with led pig- 
tails was playing with shells on the doormat. 

Don't believe people who tell you that French women are not born 
capable. 

The church of Nantua is worth a visit. It has a good Romanesque facade, 
carved with the usual energy and freedom of the Burgundy school; but the 
capitals are mutilated, as is the tympanum at the first order of the arch. The 
interior is in the usual Burgundian style. The nave has square pillars with 
engaged vaulting shafts; but the original ceiling has been replaced by a 
thirteenth-century ribbed vault, springing from corbel-capitals at the same 
height as the vaulting shafts. The thrust of the vaults has forced the pillars 
outwards both ways, and flying buttresses of a very substantial kind have been 
built to hold the church together. The tower, of later date than the body 
of the church, is the best in the district. Other points worth noticing are 
the barrel-vaulted transept, the primitive vaulting of the ceiling, the frescoes 
in the choir, and the westward slope of the floor. 




PRinCES^ riARCAKETS CHURCH 




CHAPTER XX 



Our strongest impression of Bourg en Bresse — apart from its associations 
with the Egh'se de Brou — was that it brought us almost within hail of the 
beloved Midi. As at Macon, the sun, when it shone, was aggressive. You 
welcomed the sight of leafy plane trees, you hugged the shady side of the 
road. Good peaches were to be had for a sou la piece; and the cattle wore 
hats — red and yellow tassels and elaborate string fly-protectors bound about 
their foreheads. These things are full of significance for one who has seen 
the south. 

Another memory is the ill-manners of the townspeople. The attentions 
of the folk at Paray were but neglect when compared with the fixed stare 
of Bourg. One delinquent was so absorbed in us that he nearly wrecked 
his motor in the open street; another fell down the hotel stairs; there were 
three cases of abrasion. The fact that these victims had obviously not for- 
gotten the " convenances," only made more striking their failure to observe 
them.They appeared to have no control over certain faculties. Both sexes 
had forgotten how to blush. They wrought me to anger, and my wife to 
tears. 



PRINCESS MARGARETS CHURCH 277 

But such trifles, after all, are merely the " petit desagr^ments " of travel — 
remembered only with a smile; relics of primitivism, such as was the service 
de la gare — omnibuses still running, not so much as varnished since the 
French Revolution. 

" C'est ancien " said a hotel porter, with a wave of the hand. " C'est 
un monument historique," added a bystander. The porter smiled, as his 
hand closed mechanically over a franc. 

We rode, that first afternoon, to Cezenat, on the slopes of the Jura. The 
aspect of the country round was harsher than that of central Burgundy, and 
the light fiercer; the landscape, as a whole, lacks the soft charm of the vine- 
clad Cote d'Or, without attaining to the romantic quivering whiteness of the 
Trai midi. It was very delightful to rest before the cafe opposite to the 
church of Revonnat, and watch the shapely, creamy cattle, following the 
swarthy maid to the water-trough beneath the virgin-crowned fountain. 
They drank steadily, until a long stick, rattling about their shiny muzzles, 
made them raise mildly-protesting heads. They walked home with unruffled 
dignity, a processional frieze of madonnas — their faces veiled, as befits 
holiness. 

More, and then more, came tinkling by, driven by a diminutive boy. They 
disappeared down a winding lane, and were followed by four horses, 
harnessed tandem, wearing the three-horned attelage of the Midi, and 
Stamping, swishing their tails, and tossing heads, till all the village was vocal 
with their music. After them waddled a fat woman, leaking seed, and fol- 
lowed by a hundred hungry fowls. Last of all, two piebald oxen, harnessed 
in front of a skinny pony, tugged wearily up the hill the household gods of 
a whole family piled upon a creaking cart. 

With the exception of a few old houses and the world-famous Brou, 
there is very little architecture worth seeing in Bourg. Or, if there is, it 
did not detain us long. We made at once for Princess Margaret's Church, 
rather more than a kilometre distant from the lower part of the town, at the 
end of a long, straight, squalid road. There we found it — this jewel ill-set. 
The authorities, with the cynical apathy, or ignorance, that characterises 
French ecclesiasticism, have surrounded the building, on the west and north, 
with a gravelled open space, like the playground of a board-school, adorned 
with a tawdry crucifix, and a lavatory, the whole enclosed within an ignoble 
wall. Why the French public tolerate such outrages is a mystery ! I sup- 




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ji^tN THg ffmEE-T^ 




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PRINCESS MARGARETS CHURCH 279 

pose that, in this case, darkness is just ignorance.* Yet before their very 
eyes are evidences that it was not alw^ays so. The pictures in their church 
showr that the "parvis" was originally planted with shrubs, which would grow 
as readily to-day as they did then; failing a grassy lawn, and the money or 
men to keep it green and trim. 

Enough of the setting — what of Princess Margaret's Church ? Looking 
up at it, we are reminded, at once, of her Flemish sympathies. The high 
gables of this west front — of which the centre one is lightened by a rose 
and three triangular windows, symbols of eternity and the Trinity — recall 
the splendid architecture of Bruges and the Rhine country. Rich flam- 
boyant carving is to be seen everywhere; yet the effect is more striking than 
successful. The facade is surrounded with elaborate embellishments, that, 
jostling with one another, break the harmony of line; the ornament is tor- 
tured, and conveys the impression that it is merely hung upon the Church; 
the figures in the tympanum below the flat-arched portal, are poor in execu- 
tion; the tower is mean and insufficient. Yet we must not hasten to con- 
demn. This fallen Gothic, though marred by the defects of its qualities, 
and, beyond question, fundamentally decrepit, has yet wintry graces all her 
own. Her death days were neither ignoble, nor frozen; rather they were 
instinct with a repentant animation, and warmed by a delicate flush, the hope 
and vision of coming spring. 

Yes, despite the wanton waste of ornament, despite intemperance and lack 
of restraint, there is pathos, there is beauty, even, in these splendid agonies 
of a matchless art. That proud princess of ancient lineage, lying stricken 
in her darkened chamber, where yet lingered the shadows of a passing night, 
bent timidly, fearfully, her dreamy, dying eyes upon the before and after, 
upon what had been and was yet to be; until, gathering strength for a last 
effort, the frail, fair, white hand, drawing apart the silken folds of the 
curtain, caught, through the glowing casement, a glimpse of a golden dawn 
brightening a yet lovelier world, and smiled to see the pure radiance of a 

* The English public are supposed to be extraordinarily tolerant, yet the French 
are undoubtedly more so. The inconveniences of such a large railway station 
as that at Dijon, for example, with its almost impassable doors and swinging 
gates that bang all day long with a report like that of heavy artillery, are such 
as would be dealt with sternly by an English public. But the French take 
quite good-humouredly the evils of railway monopoly — and other ills besides. 



28o BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

happier, more human beh'ef touching with the tender light of a new-born 
hope the sterner mysticism of her earh'er discarded faith. The discarded 
faith was mediaevalism; that new-born hope we call the Renaissance. 

Come with me into the building, and, before I tell Margaret's story, look, 
for a moment, round this amazing church. The nave, though it conveys 
at once to the mind of the devotee of pure Gothic, a sensation of wintry 
decadence, that neither the richness of the lovely juhe, nor a glimpse, through 
its open door, of the wonderful marble tombs within the choir, can quite 
dispel, is pleasing in its grace and simplicity, qualities which the exterior 
would not have led you to expect. So restful, too, are the flowing lines of 
the columns and engaged colonnettes rising, unbroken by capitals, to the low 
vaults, that one imagines the architect to have planned deliberately this cool, 
white marble hall, in which worshippers could soothe spirits wrought to 
intensity by sights seen within. They may well have needed such repose, 
since we need it to-day; though the love which brought this church into 
being was left lonely four hundred years ago. Pass through that open 
doorway, and see for yourself. You stand in a maze of sculptures, among 
a thousand flowers, figures, emblems, devices, and myths, feminine fantasies 
carved everywhere, in regal profusion upon many a pedestal and column, 
upon shadowy niches and overhanging tabernacles, upon dainty shaft, and 
lightest fretwork pinnacle, their marble whiteness all warmed m blue, 
crimson, and golden light streaming from the painted windows. Whether 
you look down upon the blue enamelled bricks at your feet,t at the silent 
figures beneath those strangely decorated canopies, and the myriad carven 
shapes about them, or whether you look up at the resplendent saints, kings, 
and nobles ablaze upon the panes, your sensation is one of unsatisfied wonder, 
and you know yourself to be in a building, that, for all its faults, is un- 
rivalled \n the world of art. Let me tell how it came to be so. 

The story of Margaret d'Autriche, the unfortunate princess to whom we 
owe this extraordinary Eglise de Brou, is closely linked with events and 
personalities already mentioned in these pages. Born in 1480, she was the 
daughter of Maximilian and Marie de Bourgogne, and grand-daughter of 
Charles le Temeraire. In the closing years of his life, that old fox, 
Louis XL, had chosen her out as the future wife of his Dauphin, and would, 

t Azulejos — from the Arab word Azul, blue. 



PRINCESS MARGARETS CHURCH 281 

no doubt, have had his will, had not his erstwhile ally, death, turned against 
him at last, and claimed forfeiture. 

The childhood of Marguerite passed peaceably in that lovely Chateau of 
Amboise by the Loire, in the company of her official husband, Charles VIIL, 
and his French Court, was not foreshadowed by sorrows that were soon to 
come. The King torn between desires to unite Burgundy and Brittany to 
the French crown, and finding that he could not have both, decided in favour 
of the latter. Acting upon that decision, he broke his sworn faith to 
Marguerite, dismissed his fiancee, and married Aime of Brittany. Marguerite 
left in anger; nor did she ever forgive Charles. Henceforth, France was 
her enemy. So, for many years, was Fortune. The next stroke fell swiftly. 

In April, 1497, Marguerite married Juan, Prince of Castille, the son of 
Ferdinand and Isabella, who died of fever at Salamanca in the same year — a 
misfortune that — if we are to believe her historiographer, Jean Lemaire — 
neither crushed the girl's spirit, nor extinguished her natural wit; " for, being 
on shipboard, and having passed a horrible and tempestuous night, in fear of 
perilous shipwreck, as the following day the sea had been calm and tranquil, 
while Marguerite was conversing with her maids upon their past fears and 
perturbations, the proposal was made that each should compose her own 
epitaph; whereupon she promptly composed her own in this manner " : 
" Cy gist Margot la gentil' Damoiselle, 
Q'u ha deux marys et encore est pucelle."§ 
Truly a very joyous epitaph, as Lemaire says, " si plein de vraie urbanity." 
Not so did she salute the death of her next husband. + 

It was on the 26th of September, 150 1, that was signed the treaty of her 
marriage with Philibert le Beau, Duke of Savoy — the event that first links 
Marguerite's story with that of Brou. 

The fifth of August in the following year, when Philibert and Marguerite 
paid their first visit to Bourg, was a memorable day in the annals of the town. 
Artillery boomed, joy bells clashed; every house was bright with gay hang- 
ings of all colours, with festoons, and the arms of Burgundy and Savoy. Soon 
the call of the trumpet drew all the crowd to the Town Hall, whence issued 
the corps municipal, preceded by the syndics clothed in red robes, one of 

§ "Within this tomb the sweet Margot is laid, 
Who has two husbands and is still a maid." 
+ " Eglise de Brou," by Jules Baux, p. 22 



282 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

whom bore the keys of the town upon a silver plate. The procession moved 
slowly forward, to the beat of music, until a warlike fanfare of trumpets, 
and the neighing of horses, announced the coming of the ducal cortege, at the 
head of which rode Philibert and Marguerite. Loud were the cries of joy 
that greeted the young couple. On a prancing steed, decked with rich 
draperies, bearing the arms of Burgundy, its beautiful head plumed with 
tossing white feathers, rode Marguerite, wearing the ducal crown. Through 
the folds of her silver veil, spectators could obtain a glimpse of a gracious 
face, and long fair tresses. Her dress was of crimson velvet, embroidered in 
gold, showing upon the skirt the escutcheons of Austria and Savoy. In one 
hand she held her reins, the other was lifted in gracious salutation to the 
crowd. At her right ambled the Duke Philibert, proud of the reception that 
Bourg was according his lady. 

Philibert le Beau was a handsome, gay, debonair prince, who loved to give 
to music and good cheer all the hours he could spare from his favourite 
pastime of the hunt. He left to his ministers exclusively all such trouble- 
some matters as affairs of State. Such was the young gallant who rode by 
Marguerite's side through the streets of Bourg. 

Every house, as we have said, was gay with blazoned arms and bunting. 
On a great scaffold before the Church of Notre Dame, the preaching friars 
were presenting mystery plays, the Christian legends of St. George and of 
the Archangel St. Michael. On the scaffolds, in various parts of the town, 
were figured scenes from mythological history. The Labours of Hercules, 
or Jason's encounters with monsters and dragons during his quest of the 
Golden Fleece. Before the town wall, in the presence of a crowd so dense 
that a way could scarcely be cleared for the duchess, was represented the 
allegory of " The Fountain and the Maid," in which, from the metal 
breasts of a gigantic female figure, two jets of wine splashed into the basin 
below. 

During the three short years of Philibert's married life, the peace of 
E'-irope was untroubled, and the Duke of Savoy was forced to appease his 
military ardour in tournament and hunt. A chronicler of the time has left 
us a detailed account of the jousts held on the occasion of the marriage of 
Laurent de Gorrevod, at the Castle of Carignan. Philibert bore himself so 
bravely in the lists, that the ladies, with one consent, " benign and not un- 
grateful, knowing the honour and the great and mighty feats of arms done for 
love of them, advised that by right and without favour, the honour and prize 



PRINCESS MARGARETS CHURCH 283 

of the combat should be given to Duke Philibert. Wherefore the said 
ladies desired him that he would of his grace accept the ring presented to 
him on their behalf by a young and fair demoiselle — which supplication, as 
one full of honour, courtesy, and benignity, thanking the said ladies, their 
said ring and present he graciously accepted."* 

The Duke's favourite hunting-seat was at Chateau de Pont-Ain,t high 
up on the hill overlooking Bresse and Bugey. Many a day the dark woods 
around echoed the merry note of the horn, and the deep bay of his hounds, 
as Philip and Marguerite rode forth together. She with " the ivory horn 
hung in a sling, mounted on a spirited palfrey, followed her very dear lord 
and spouse, in hot chase of the horned stags, by wood and plain, by mountain 
and valley, fearing not the ardour of the sun not the toil of the hunt, so that 
by her careful presence she could guard him from all misfortune." 

On a very hot morning, in September, 1504, the young prince, led far 
afield by the excitement of the chase, " and almost separated from his party, 
who could follow him no longer, was passing, at mid-day, a long and narrow 
valley, on foot, because his horses, by reason of the long ride, were dead or 
broken down." 

Arriving, breathless and bathed in perspiration, at the Fontaine St. Vulbas, 
he was charmed by the cool shade of the place, and ordered his meal to be 
served to him there. Before long, feeling himself seized with a sudden 
shivering fit, he ordered his horse, and began his homeward journey, " hold- 
ing his hand to his chest, then commencing to bend forward and to be in 
great agony." He reached the Castle at last, and threw himself down upon 
a camp bed, " beside which came soon, all troubled in heart, the very dear 

*Beaux's "Eglise de Brou," 52. 
tThe Chateau de Pont D'Ain does not seem to have met with general favour, to 
judge from the follov/ing humourous lines which Jean Lemaire imagined him- 
self addressing to Marguerite. 

" Ha ! Le Pont d'Ain, que tu fusses p6ry ! 
Lieu ex6crable, anathematise, 
Mai feu, puist Sstre en tes tours attis^ ! 
Au moins, Princesse, en extreme guerdon, 
Je te requiers et te supplie ung don : 
C'est que mon corps n'y soit ensevely; 
Ains le netz en quelque lieu joy, 
Bien tapisese de diverses flourettes 
Ou pastoureaulx devisent d'amourettes." 



284 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

Duchess, his very dear spouse and companion, who, seeing her lord and friend 
lying ill, and nevertheless not knovv^ing as yet of her great mourning so soor^ 
to be, began to comfort him very sweetly, and to cheer him with all her 
power." 

For several days the young prince battled with a violent attack of pleurisy; 
but, at last, in spite of bleeding and many prayers, even his strong constitution 
gave way, and the lovers knew that they must part. "And himself feeling 
his end drawing near, rose and would fain bid an eternal farewell to his very 
loved companion, holding her in a strong embrace." He died in the arms 
of Marguerite, on the loth September, 1504, in the very room in which he 
had been born, twenty-four years before, in the Chateau de Pont-d'Ain. 

The brief days of Marguerite's happiness were closed. Coming years 
were to bring their measure of consolation to the stricken woman ; but, as she 
herself, a poetess of sorrow, wrote in verse, whose graceful melodies recall 
the plaintive notes of Charles D 'Orleans, henceforth for her 

Deuil et ennuy, soussy, regret et peine, 
Ont eslongu6 ma plaisance mondaine, 
Dont a part moy, je me plains et tourmente; 
Et en espoir n'ay plus un brin d'attente : 
V^ez la, comment Fortune me pourmeine. 

Ceste longheur vault pis que mort soudaine; 
Je n'ay pensd qui joye me rameine; 
Ma fantasie est de d^plaisir pleine; 
Car devant moy a toute heure se pr^sente 
Deuil et ennuy. * 



*Mourning and care, regret and grief and pain, 
Within my heart all worldly joy have slain, 
Wherefore, apart, I make my moan and grieve 
That hope no more my anguish may relieve. 
For see how Fate to do me hurt is fain. 

Far less to sudden Death would I complain, 
Than life drawn out — nor ever joy again ; 
But fancy leading phantoms in her train, 
For here, all day, all year long, I receive 
Mourning and care. 
For complete poem see Baux's "Eglise de Brou," p. 66. 



X 



PRINCESS MARGARETS CHURCH 285 

So poor Marguerite adopted a new device, the last and saddest of three 
comments upon her destiny, f You may read it to-day, a hundred times, 
on the walls, the tombs, the windows of the church of Brou. 



FORTUNE. INFORTUNE. FORT UNE.* 

It was in the spring of 1505 that Margaret laid with her own hand the 
first stone of the building she had dreamed of ever since her husband's death, 
a church which would, at the same time worthily perpetuate the memory 
of their loves, and accomplish the unfulfilled vow of her mother, Marguerite 
de Bourbon, who had sworn many years before to erect a church to the glory 
of God, should her husband recover from an illness that then threatened his 
life. 

The princess chose for her architect Loys van Boghen, a Flamand of great 
ability, under whose direction the whole fabric of the church was con- 
structed. The statues and sculptures were in the hands of " Maistre 
Conrard, le consomme tailleur d'ymages," between whom and the difficult, 
quarrelsome Loys considerable friction seems to have arisen. This we 
gather from the archives of Ain. + 

" Insomuch as Maistre Loys is somewhat light of word and threat towards 
one and another, both ecclesiastic and secular, whence much scandal may 
arise, as indeed has already chanced, and our Lady's work thereby retarded, 
the said Maistre Loys is thereby expressly forbidden and prohibited hence- 
forth from using such threats and words; and should he notwithstanding 
attempt to do so, he will be held accountable therefore to our Lady in his 

tThe first, adopted after her dismissal from the Court of France by Charles VIII., 
was a windswept mountain, with the motto, "Perflant altissimo venti." The 
second, taken after the death of John Castille, and her child by him, was a 
fruit tree split by lightning. 

*This enigmatic device has been variously deciphered, but two contemporary authors 
agree in interpreting it " Fortuna infortunat fortiier unam" which means 
"Fortune tries cruelly a woman." Murray's guide gives incorrectly, "Fortune 
infortune forte une," meaning "Here is a woman strong in fortune or in mis- 
fortune." 

tBeaux's "Eglise de Brou," p. 57. 



286 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

person and goods. The same shall be said to Maistre Conrard and to all 
other whom it may concern." § 

At length, stone by stone, in spite of of Maistre Loys' temper and the 
awful famine and pestilence, which, in those years, were ravaging the town 
of Bourg, Marguerite's darling project approached completion. Many a day 
would she ride over from the Castle of Pont d'Ain, where she was passing 
the early years of her widowhood, to watch her beloved building growing 
beneath her eyes. 

On her palfrey white the Duchess 
Sate and watched her working train — 

Flemish carvers, Lombard gilders, 
German masons, smiths from Spain. 

Clad in black, on her white palfrey, 

Her old architect beside — 
There they found her in the mountains. 

Morn and noon and eventide. 

There she sate and watched the builders. 
Till the Church was roofed and done. 

Last of all the builders reared her 
In the nave a tomb of stone. * 

The closing years of Marguerite's life were passed in administering, 
wisely and justly, the affairs of the Pays Bas, of which country she had long 
been appointed governor. Her wealth, her great abilities, and her exalted 
rank all combined to render her one of the most prominent figures in the 

§The fabric, however, does not seem to have suffered as much from the quarrels cf 
the builders, as from the extraordinary failure of the architect to provide 
efficiently for carrying away the roof water, with the result that heavy rains 
nearly destroyed the building before even it was finished. Loys had probably 
forgotten structural soundness in his efforts to satisfy his employer's passion for 
decorative effect. 

*Matthew Arnold's poem, "The Church of Brou," is marred by a number of un- 
necessary inaccuracies. Philibert was not slain by a boar, he died of pleurisy. 
Marguerite's Tomb is at the "Crossing East of the Choir," and not in the nave, 
moreover, the poet seems so uncertain whether the Church is in the mountain 
or in the valley, that one is led to doubt whether he really knew. 



288 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

political life of the time. Francis L, after his defeat at Pavia, sought her 
good graces; she was courted of many; her voice was loud in the counsels of 
Europe. But Marguerite, who had already refused the hand of Henry VII. 
of England, was not to be dazzled by the glitter of a crown. Long ago she 
had renounced wedded life, until friendly death should lay her once more 
beside Philibert in those bridal tombs. Her inmost thoughts, far away from 
thrones and principalities, were turning towards the cloister, as a fitting 
refuge from the cares of state, when, in 1530, her unhappy life was brought 
to a sudden close. This is the traditional story of her death, as told in a 
manuscript of the eighteenth century, f 

On the fifteenth of the month of November, in the morning, before rising, 
she asked for a drink of water from one of her attendants, Magdeleine of 
Rochester, who, obeying her immediately, brought the water in a crystal cup; 
but, while taking it back, she unfortunately let the glass fall in front of the 
bed, where it was smashed to pieces. The girl gathered the fragments up, as 
carefully as she could, but did not think of looking into her Royal mistress's 
slippers. Some hours later. Princess Marguerite put on her slippers, and 
walked to the fire. Feeling a violent pricking sensation in her left foot, she 
called a lady in waiting, who found a fragment of the broken cup firmly 
embedded therein. This she drew out, as carefully as she could, and the 
princess, with her usual courage, made light of the matter, and dismissed it 
from her mind. 

Some days after, she began to feel great pain in the foot, and noticed that 
the limb was swollen. Physicians were summoned, who, after private con- 
sultation, decided that the wound was gangrened, and that amputation was 
the only practicable means of saving the patient's life. They communicated 
their decision to Montecut, the princess's confessor, and asked him to break 
the news to his mistress. She was much surprised, but bore bravely what she 
must have known to be virtually a sentence of death. The next few days 
having been passed in confession, absolution, and the settlement of her 
temporal affairs, she submitted herself to her doctors, who proceeded to ad- 
minister to their patient so large a dose of opium " that they put her tcr a 
sleep so sound that it is not yet ended, and will not end until the Resur- 
rection of all the dead." 

tDescription Historique de la belle eglise et du couvent royal de Brou." Quoted 

Beaux pp. 126-8. 



PRINCESS MARGARETS CHURCH 289 

Marguerite was buried at Malines, where her body lay for two years, until, 
her tomb being ready, she was laid, in 1532, according to the express terms 
of her will, beside her " lord and husband," who was to rest between his 
mother and his wife. 

There you may see her to-day lying, proud and lovely, as in life, her royal 
face still turned to the man to whose glory, rather than to God's, she had 
raised those astounding memorials of a woman's devotion. There, in flaming 
colour upon the purpled panes, in blazoned device upon floor and wall, in a 
thousand delicate fancies, wrought, with most exquisite art, upon the pale, 
white marble of the tombs, and altar pieces, you may read the story of her 

life. 

# * * * * * m 

We are now in a position to realize why the church, though built by men, 
breathes femininity. It was the expression of a woman's mind, the love 
offering of a lady to her lord. As such, all women's virtues are expressed 
in it — dignity and grace in the flowing lines of the nave, purity in the white- 
ness of the marble, wit and ingenuity in the legends and devices, daintiness 
in the exquisite detail; courage, patience, and devotion, revealed everywhere 
in the complete unity of the whole. + And those women's virtues carried 
with them women's faults — a certain lack of breadth and vision; over- 
elaboration of detail, and a love of prettiness that verges upon the petty. § 
All these things are apparent. But the greatest defect of all — the subordina- 
tion of design to ornament — is as much the fault of the age as of the 
individual. These were the years of transition. 

The old greatness had passed; the new greatness in building was not yet 
come. In that sense this church is inherently decadent. 

When men of the early middle ages reared their mighty fanes to God and 
to his saints, they lifted vault and roof into echoing airy spaces, where the 
rapt worshippers, looking upward, might seek haply after God; but here is 
no upward call. This roof is low, flattened, heavy; threatening, almost, to 
fall upon the heads bent in prayer. The builders of pure Gothic loved to 
ornament their churches with the richest sculpture that skilful, reverent hands 
could carve; and they sought their inspirations in Nature alone, who shapes 

+Baux points out that the church does not contain one statue of St. Nicholas of 

Tolentin, its patron saint. 
§Michelet vii. cap. xii. 



290 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

the tree before she decks it with leaves, and fashions the plant before the 
flower. But these later men, losing sincerity, lost truth; they thought of the 
leaf before the limb, and of blossom rather than of bough. That is why 
Brou leaves us unsatisfied. Yet, as I have said, we must not blame utterly. 
Whatever architect and sculptor may have lacked, one thing they did not 
lack — patience. And if patience were indeed genius, as Buffon says it is, 
then is genius here, too. Surely, the most fastidious spectator may say with 
Paradin, the old chronicler of Savoy, " apres tout estant leans (a Brou), 
semble que voyez un songe, et ne savez a quoi premierment addresser vos 
yeux pour les repaistre, parce qu' une chascune chose se convie a regarder 
comme un nouveau spectacle." 

We have no space left in which to deal with details of the tombs, the 
choir stalls, altar pieces, and other marvels the church contains. The reader 
must discover them for himself; we can only give a few general impressions. 
As you face the east end of the Church, the tomb of Marguerite d'Autriche 
is on your left, that of Philibert le Beau in the centre, and that of 
Marguerite de Bourbon on the right. This last, the earliest of the three, 

is obviously inspired by 
the royal tombs at 
Dijon, but, having no 
base, it lacks their dig- 
nity, just as it lacks 
their harmony and sim- 
plicity. The pleurants 
are very poor, when 
compared with those of 
Claus Sluter and his nephew. The minute detail is extraordinarily good, 
but there is a superabundance of ornament, and the whole is tortured and 
conscious. The meaning of the device bearing the letters F E R T has 
been much debated. Some say that it represents Fortitudo Ejus Rhodum 
Tenuit, or Tuetur, in memory of Amedee le Grand's victory over the Turks; 
others that it is a chevaleresque French device; Frappez, Entrez, Rompez 
Tout. The guide, however, gave us Fide et Religione Tenemur, as the 
true solution. 

Philibert's tomb is quite fittingly the best of the three, as being the simplest 
and most dignified. The detail is very Flemish, some of the figures recalling 
in pose as well as in costume, the manner of Van Eyck and his school. 




PRINCESS MARGARETS CHURCH 291 

The tomb of Marguerite d'Autriche is beautifully proportioned, but much 
of the ornament has so little relation to the design that it appears to be 
applique. Tortured lines are the inevitable result. Many of the figures 
however, are very charming; notably the Madeleine holding her hair, and 
Catherine of Alexandria trampling down the Emperor Maximilian of Italy. 
The Marguerites make effective and appropriate ornament, as also do the 
briquets of the house of Burgundy — two sticks in the form of St. Andrew's 
cross. 

The altar piece of the virgin in the north transept is one of the most extra- 
ordinary productions of its kind that I know. It is more magnificent even 
than the tombs, and far exceeds them in grace, charm, and realism. The 
seven scenes represented are : The Ascension of the Virgin ; the Visitation ; 
the Annunciation; the Nativity; the Adoration; Pentecost; Christ appearing 
to His Mother. In the oratory of Marguerite d'Autriche there is a curious 
oblique arch, enabling her to see both altars at the same time. 

Let me close these few notes on the church of Brou with some lively 
comments from Paradin's Chronique de Savoie. 

" As to the pavement, even that which is in the choir as well as that which 
is in the chapel of my said Lady Marguerite d'Autriche, it is in truth a thing 
as pleasant and delicious to see as may possibly be found, being all such joyous 
;and singular leadwork mingled with very divers picturing . . . which 
so pleases spectators that almost with regret one walks upon it. I remember 
that, being there, was a gentleman who feeling scruples at walking on this 
pavement, spat in the face of a great rascal of a pastrycook, whose nose was 
all beflowered with knobs of scarlet tint, saying that there was no spot in all 
the church more dirty to spit on than that." 

"I remember also having seen descend (here), the late King Francisf when 
he came to Bourg, who, having seen this church, was ravished with admira- 
tion, saying that he had never seen nor heard of a temple of such excellence 
for what it contained. And true it is that he noted (as he was a Prince 
exceeding in good sense all the kings of his time) that this white stone of 
which the Church is built, would not well endure frost, being too rare and 
tender. And it was since found that he spoke truly; for long after there 
fell from the clock tower some of the great bastions or gargoyles which take 
the water over the roof, on the side of the cloisters, a thing which did much 
hurt to the building." 

t Francis I, 



292 BURGUNDY: THE SPLENDID DUCHY 

The revolutionary mob were proposing to do still greater hurt to the 
building, and would have done so, had not the wisest man in all Bourg filled 
the church with hay which the sans-eulottes could not bring themselves to 
burn. So Brou is ours, we hope, for many centuries to come. 




^'^.^ 




INDEX 



^3, 



"5. 



Abelard 895 14' 

„ At Paris 

„ Marriage with Heloise ... 

J, Fulbert's crime 

„ At St. Denis & St. Gildas 
,, Paraclet & correspondence 
,, Death 

Aedui 

Agrippa, Voie de 

Aimard, Abbot of Cluny 

Ain, The 

Alberic 

Albigensian Crusade 

Alengon, Due d' 

Alesia 

Alethea (Alethe) , 

Alexandre de Bourgogne 

Aligote (wine) 

Alonzo VI., King of Castille 

Amalon, Duke 

Amboise, Jacques de 

Amboise, Chateau de 

Ambulatorium Angelorum, Cluny 
Abbey 

Amphitheatres . . . 

Andrew 

Anjou, Duke of 

Anne of Brittany 

Anselm 

„ Bishop of Laon 146 

Antoine-le-Moiturier 192 

Antigny-le-Chatel 179 

Antony de la Marche 156 

Apollo 32, so 

Apollo, Temple of 21, 32, 34 

Aquitaine, William, Duke of 60, 61, 63 



PAGE 

'1 153 
146 
148 
149 

ISO 
151 

16, 32 

365 63 

91 
. 272 

174, 176, 178 
123 
106 

15 

209 

242 

... 247 

71 

138, 140 

88, 94 

... 281 



75 

39 

18 

136 

281 



Argenteuil, Convent of ... . 

Ariovistus 

Aries 

Armagnacs et Bourguignons 



PAGE 

.. 147, 149 

14 

32, 36, 100 
105, 200 



Arnay-le-duc, Road to 179: Town 

180, 182, 183, 248 



Arnaud, Abbot of Citeaux 

Arnold, Matthew, " Church of Brou 

Arverni 

Aseraule, Monastery of 

Asile des Alienees, Dijon 

Augustodunum (See Autun) 

Augustus 

Autun 8 

„ Amphitheatres 

,, Cathedral St. Lazare 12, 26, 42, 51 
,, ,, translation of Relics 42 

,, ,, Destruction of Tomb 48 

,, ,, Alterations to ... 48 

„ 5, Capitals 49 

„ Capitol 21, 32, 34 

,, Castrum 21, 26, 55 

,, Caves Joyaux (See Theatre) 
,, Champ de Mars, Place du 

II, 26, 55, 56 

,, ,, des Urnes 20 

„ Crot Volu (Amphitheatre) 
,, Ecoles Meniennes ... 21, 
,, Faubourg d' Arroux ... 
,, ,, des Marbres 

„ Forum 

,, Fountain of Pelican ... 
,, H6pital St. Nicholas 

,, Hotel Rolin 

„ ,, de Ville ... . 

,, ,, St. Louis ... . 



123 

286 

13 

178 
189 

33 
II 

-58 
39 







39 


52, 


33> 


34 


n> 


24, 


27 

34 
21 


28, 


51. 


52 
S3 




51- 


-53 
55 




31. 


41 



293 



294 



INDEX 



Autun, Hospice St. Gabriel 34 

„ Jambe de Bois, Rue de la ... 21 
„ Lazarus (See St. Lazare) 

5, Marbres, Faubourg des 34 

J J ,, Promenade des 34, 39 

J, ,, Porte des 21 

„ Martha (See St. Martha) 

„ Mary (See St. Mary) 

,, Musee lapidaire ... 43, 53 — 55 

„ Musee municipal 55 

5, Porch of Cathedral 44, 45 

„ Porte d' Arroux 26, 27 

„ ,, des Marbres (Porte de 

Rome) 21 

,, ,, St. Andoche 39 

,, ,, Andre 27 

5, St. Andrew 43 

5, Saint Lazare, 41 46 ; Tomb of, 
43, 48 ; Cathedral of, 12, 

26, 42, 51 

,, St. Martha 41, 43, 46, 54 

,, ,, Martin, Abbey of 154 

„ „ Mary 41, 43, 46, 54 

,, Rue de la Jambe de Bois ... 21 

,, Sand, Georges 57 

,, Temple of AppoUo ... 21, 32, 34 
5, ,, ,, Janus 12, 16, 22, 24 

,, Theatre (Roman) ... 35 — 37, 39 

,, Tour des Ursulines 29 

,, Voie d' Agrippa 21, 36 

Auvergne, Mountains of 10, 13 

Auxerre 184 

Auxey-le-Grand 240, 246 

Avignon 136 



Babuti, Mdlle. (Mme Greuze) 
Bagaudes, The 
Baleuse, Julian de ... 
Balme, Monastery of 
Bar, Tour de, Dijon 

,, Due de 

Batonard, Citizen ... 
Baufremont, Jeanne de 
,, Pierre de 



169 

250 

91 

64 

215 
213 

85 
242 
242 



PAGE 

Beauchamp, Guillaume de 53 

Beaune, Vicomte de, 112; Castle of ... 208 
,, Maison du Colombier, 230 ; 
Flemish Belfry, 232 ; Hos- 
pice de la Charite, 232 ; 
Notre Dame, 232 ; Hotel 

Dieu 233 — 236 

Bees, Alberic's Dream of 177 

Belfry of Beaune ... 232 

Belle Pierre, Cluny 94 

Berecynthia, Cybele 50 

Bernard (see St. Bernard) 

Bernon, Abbot of Gigny 61 

Berri, Jean, Duke of 196, 199 

Bertille 137 — 144 

Bertrand, Marechal 56 

Besancon 24 

Beuvray 2, 4—10, 13, 15. 16, 53 

Berze-le-Chatel 103—106 

Beziers 123 

Bibracte, Oppidum (see Beuvray) ... 5 

,, Goddess 6 

Blanche de Castille (Queen) ... 103, 123 

Bligny-sur-Ouche 178, 179 

Boniface VIII., Pope 89 

Bouilland 237 

Boulogne 24 

Bouillon, Cardinal de 98 

Bourbon, Jean de 88, 89, 91 

,, I'Archambaud 24 

,, Marguerite de 285 

Bourg-en-Bresse 276, 277 

Bourgogne, Canal de 215 

,, Marie de 250 

Bouxaise, Valley of the 237 

Brasey, Guillaume de 53 

53 

Brayer, General 56 

Bresse, Pays de 276, 277, 283 

Broederlam, Melchior 204 

Brou, Eglise de 204, 277 — 292 

Brunehault, Queen 54 

■t'ugey 283 

Buligneville, Battle of 213 



INDEX 



295 



PAGE 

BuUiot 6, 9, 16, S3 

Burgundian Dreams of Empire 205, 206, 208 

,, Patois 27O5 271 

„ Sculpture 44, 45, 49, 191, 

192, 194, 204, 212 

,, Wedding 266 — 270 

Busseul — Saint Sernin, Marguerite de 263 

Caesar, Julius 5, 10, 13, 14, 250 

Canal de Bourgogne 215, 216 

Canossa 67 

Capitals, Cluny Abbey, 93 ; Autun 

Cathedral 49 

Carignan, Chateau de 282, 283 

Carnot 240 

Caves Joyaux 34 

Celestins, Church of the 199 

Cezenat 277 

Challant, Jacques de. Seigneur de 

Manille 219, 220 

Chalonnais 137 

Chalon-sur-Sa6ne, 136, 137, 153, 158; 

Cathedral of 158 

Champeux 146 

Champs des Urnes, Autun 20 

Chandios, Pierre de 154 — 158 

Chapelle Bourbon, Cluny 87, 88 

Charlemagne, Tree of 210, 217, 220 

Charles V. of France 185, 186, 188 

Charles VI. of France, 89, 185 ; mad- 
ness of 188, 201 

Charles VII. of France, 91, 105 ; as 

Dauphin 201, 202 

Charles VIII. of France, 20 ; at 

Autun 56, 94, 281 

Charles le Temeraire, 53, 203, 205 ; 

death of 206 — 208, 280 

Charles the Simple 61 

Charmeur de Viperes 134, 5 

Charney, Lord of 156, 217, 219, 220, 242 

CharoUes 135 

Charolois, Count Charles of 153 

Chartreuse de Champnol 189, 191 

Chastelux, Pierre de 88 



Chateau-neuf 

Chatigny, Forest of 

Chatillon-sur-Seine 

Childebert 

Chilperic 

Cicero 

Circateurs 

Cistercian Architecture ... 
,, Order and Rule 
,, Sites 



PACE 

246 

166 

... Ill, IIS 

137 

137 

i3> 14 

79 

... 120, 145 

III, 112, 113 

"3 



112; to-day, 124 — 126, 177, 184, 204 

Citeaux, 59, iii — ia6; Foundation of, 

Clairvaux iii, 117, 125 

Claude de France 20 

Claude de Guise 94 

Claudius, Emperor 250 

Claus Sluter (see Sluter) 

,, de Werve 190, 191 

Clermain, village of 63, no 

Clotaire 11, 54 

Clous, Valley of the 240 

Cluny ... 26, 59 — no, in, 120, 127, 184 

,, Eglise Notre Dame 97 

,, ,, St. Marcel 97) 99 

,, Hotel Dieu 

,, ,, de Bourgogne 60, 88, 100, loi 

,, ,, des Monnaies 97 

,, ,, de Ville 94 

,, Impressions of 59> 60 

99 

,, Women of 99, 100 

Cluny Abbey 75 

,, ,, Abelard at 152 

,, ,, Arms of 91 

,, ,, Basilica, Interior of ... 74 

,, ,, Boar, Legend of the ... 65 

,, ,, Capitals 93 

,, ,, Chapelle Bourbon ... 87 

,, ,, Consecration by 

Innocent II. ... 70 

,, ,, Crumbs, Legend of the 64 

,, ,, Description ... 71 — 73 

,, ,, Dream of 102 

„ „ Exterior 75, 76 



296 



INDEX 



Cluny Abbey, Foundation 
Gateway 



PAGE 

60, 61, 63 

89 
82 
84 
65, 66 
69 



Hugues, Death of St 

Luxury 

Monastic Revival 

Monks Vision 

,, Purpose of 73 

Palace of Pope Gelase 86 

Palais Abbatial 89 

Pascal II. at 70 

Raoul Glaber at 163 

Revolution 85 

Romanesque Houses ... 95 

Rule of 76—82 

Tour de I'Eau Benite... 89 
,, I'Horloge ... d-j 

Colonna, Jean Baptiste 207 

Conrad, Maitre 285, 286 

Constantino 21, 28, 32 

,, Emperor of Byzantium ... 242 

Constantius Chlorus 32 

Correggio 99 

Cosse (Broom-pod) Order of 185 

Costumes of 15th century 185, 186 

Cote-d'Or ... 216, 230 — 257, 240, 248, 253 
Couhard, Pierre de ... 16, 18, 20 — 22 

Courtepee 

Courtrai 

Creux du Diable 

,, ,, Legend of 

Cross of St. Andrevir 

(Burgundian Badge) 

Croix de Rebout 

Crumbs, Legend of 

Cussy 

,, la Colonne 

Cybele (Berec3mthia) 

Damien, Pierre 80, 89 

Dame des Pleurs, Tournament of 153 — 158 

Dance des Morts 186 

Dechelette 27 

De la Monno}'e 260 

Delmace 66 





249 




212 


221, 


222 


222- 


-229 


ge) 


200 




5 




64 


248- 


-250 


248- 


-250 




5'-^ 



PAGE 
Devil's Pit 221, 222 

,, ,, Legend of 222 — 229 

Diana 50 

Digoin 135 

Dijon 21, 184 — 220 

,, As it was in the 14th century 184 

,, Asile des Alienees 189 

,, Bar, Tour de 189 

,, Castle of 205 

,, Chartreuse de Champnol ... 189 

,, Louis nth. Entry of 208 

,, Musee 203 — 205 

,, Murder of Due d' Orleans... 196 — 199 
,, Notre Dame, Church of ... 204, 

210, 212, 220, 242, 244 
,, Palais de Justice ... 204, 210, 2115 

,, Palais des Dues 213, 244 

,, Post Office 205, 209 

,, Prisons of 173 

,, Puits des Prophetes 189, 190 

,, St. Michel, Church of ... 204, 210 
,, Tomb of Jean Sans Peur ... 192, 194 
,, ,, Philippe le Hardi 191, 192 

,, To-day 209 — 215 

Divitiacus 13, 14, 31, 34 

Druids 13 

Dumnorix 14, 15 

Edward I. (King of England) 158 

Edward IV. „ „ 186 

Eglise de Brou (see Brou) 

"Eho" (Folk Song) 258—262 

Epinac 58 

Eringarde in 

Etzebon 71 

Eudes I., Duke of Burgundy 115 

Eudes II., Duke of Burgundy 42 

Eudes III., Duke of Burgundy 123 

Eugene III., Pope 117, 118, 122 

Eumenes 26, 28, 32, 33, 34 

Famine in France 165 — 168 

Faurtride, Abbot of Clairvaux 118 

Ferdinand, King of Spain 2S1 



INDEX 



297 



PAGE 

Fertiault, Frangois 260, 262, 271 

Fete des Trepasses 244 

First of March 264 

Folk Song 258—262 

Fontaine-les-Dijon 115, 216 

Fontaine St. Vulbas 283 

Fontenay (M.De) ... 22, 24, 26, 27, 34, 36 
Fountain of the Pelican, Autun ... 513 52 

Foret au Maitre 237 

Franfois I. ... 20, 21, 54, 129, 288, 291 

Froissart 212 

Froissy 179 

Fulbert, Canon 147 — 149 

Gabriel de Roquette 36 

Camay, Wine 247 

Gaul 6, 9, 10, 14, 15 

Gaulish Coins 16 

Gaulish Remains 6 

Gelase XL, Pope 74, 86, 89 

Gemeaux 228 

Geneva, Canton of 271 

Geoffrey (St. Bernard's Secretary) ... 118 

,, de Berze 104 

Geraldus 43, 44 

Gerard (Brother of St. Bernard) 116 

Gisilbertus 46 

Glaber, Raoul 163 — 167 

,, History of his Time 164 

Gloze d' Ezechiel 147 

Golden Fleece (Toison d'Or) 156 — 158, 

244, 246 
Gontran (King of Burgundy) 137, 140 — 144 

Gorrevod, Laurant de 282 

Goujon, Jean 51 

Goux, Pierre de 155 

Grandson, Battle of 53, 206 

Grancy, Chateau de 116 

Gregory of Tours 54, 143 

VII. (Pope Hildebrand) 67—69 

Greuze 99, 167 — 169 

Guigonnes de Salins 234, 236 

Guillain, Nicolas 49 

Guillaume de St. Benigne 164 



Guillaume de Vaudray ... . 

,, Lord of Marigny 

Guise, Claude de 



PAGE 

220 

174 — 176 
94, 106 



Hamerton, P. G. 9, 10, 27, 42, 55 

Harding, Stephen 112 — 114, 178 

Heliodore de Thiard de Bissy 263 

Heloise, 146 — 153; meets Abelard, 147 ; 
marriage, 148, 149; at Paraclet, 150, 

151 ; death of, 153 

Helvetii 14, 250 

Henry I. (King of England) 71 

,, IV. (King of France) ... 106, 263 

,, IV. (King of the Germans) 67, 68 

,, V. (King of the Germans) ... 86 

VII. (King of England) ... 288 

Heraclicus 50 

Hercules, Maximian 250 

Hildebrand de Mans 75 

Pope Gregory VII. 67, 68, 89 

Holy Tear 175 

Hospice de la Charite, Beaune ... 232 

Hotel Chretien, Arnay-le-Duc 183 

,, des Ambassadeurs, Maison 

Richard, Dijon 213 
,, de Bourgogne, Cluny ... 60, 68 

,, de Cluny, Paris 91 

,, Dieu, Beaune 232 — 236 

,, Dieu, Cluny 97, 98 

,, Rolin, Autun 51 

,, St. Louis, Autun 51 

Huerta, Jean de la 191 

Hugues, Abbot of St. Martin, Autun 61 
,, Abbot of Clun3^..66 — 70, 74, 

80, 82, 91 

II. Abbot of Cluny 83 

,, 11. Duke of Burgundy ... 115 

III. „ „ ... 45 

IV. „ „ ... 122 
,, le Pacifique, Duke of 

Burgundy 175 

,, de Macon 117 

,, Sambin 204, 210 

Huguenots 105 

Humbert de Bage 42 



298 



INDEX 



Huns 



PAGE 

137, 144, 160 



Ingres 

Innocent II. Pope 

III., Pope 
IV., „ 
Isabella, Queen of Spain 
Isabeau de Baviere, Queen 

Is-sur-Tille 

Jaquemart, Clock 

Jacques d'Amboise 

„ de Baerze 

Janus, Temple of (See Autun) 

Jayet, Pierre 

Jean de la Huerta ... 

,, de Bourbon 

,, de Marville ... 

„ Petit 

,, sans Peur, Tomb of, 192, 
character, 194, 195, 198 

201 ; murder of 
Jeannin, Pierre 
Jeanniot, G.H.P. 
John VIII., Pope ... 
Josephine, Empress 
Juan, Prince of Castille 
Judith Chalonnaise, La (Bertille) 



49. 50 

42, 71, 119 

68, 123 

... 89 

... 281 

196 

229 

212 

88, 94 

... 203 



129 
191 
, 89 
191 
199 



194; 
199. 
202, 



137- 



204 

49 

205 
146 
S6 
281 
-144 



Labussiere, Abbey of 
,, Church 

La Cluse 

La Ferte, Abbey of ... 
Lalain, Jaques de ... 
La Marche, Olivier de 153, 207, 



,, ,j Anthony de 

Lamartine (de Prat) 

Lancaster, Duke of 

Langue d'Oc 

Langue d'Oil 

Laurel, Fixing and Song of 

Lemaire, Jean 

Lempereur 

Leo XIII., Pope 



173- 



178 
... 178 
272, 273 
117, 125 
154—158 
218, 

219, 234 
... 156 
107 — no 
... i8s 
... 271 
... 271 
268 — 270 
... 281 
... 249 
... 125 



PAGE 

■•• 155 
44 

... 263 
10 

285, 286 



Les Carmes, Church of 
Lichfield Cathedral, Spire of 

Ligueurs 

Loire, Valley of 

Lois von Boghen 

Louee, la 

Louis VII., of France 

„ IX. „ 

J, XL ,, 194, 205, 206, 

208, 233, 236, 263, 280, 281 

„ XIV. „ q8 

,, d'Orleans, murder of 

,, le Gros 

Louise de Savoie 

Lourdon, Chateau de 

Ludwige 13 

Lusigny 

Lux, Village of 



42, 122, 152 
89, 122, 123 



196 — 199 



106, 107 

142, 144 

248, 249 

221, 222 



Macon 

Maeniana 

Magdeleine of Rochester 

Maison de Bois, Chalon-sur-Sa6ne 



635 104, 135, 171, 172 

33 
288 

158 



,, Colombier, Beaune ... 

,, des Caryatids, Dijon 

,, Milsand, Dijon 

,, Notre Dame, Paris 

,, des Pompons 

,, Richard, Dijon 
Mahomet II., Sultan 
Maitre, Foret au 

Malines 

Malvaux, Gorge of ... 

Mandelot 

Manoir des Dues de Bourgogne, 

Arnay-le-Duc 
Marbres, Les, Autun 
" March, First of" 
Marcilly, Etang de ... 
Marcus Aurelius 
Marechal de Rieux 
Marguerite d'Autriche, 280 — 292 ; 

Devices of, 285 ; closing 
years of, 286 ; death of 



230 
213 

213 

198 
129 

213 

242 

^■'37 

289 

6 

253 

182 

28 

264 

229 

50 
1 96 



INDEX 



299 



PAGE 

Marguerite de Bourbon 285 

5 5 de Busseul-Saint-Sernin 263 

,, de Flandres 190 

,, Ste. Abbey and Legend of 

237—240 

Marigny, Chateau de 174 

Marie de Bourgogne 280 

Martha (see St. Martha) 

Martial d'Auvergne 188, 189 

Martin of Autun 43j 48 

Marville, Jean de 191 

Mary (see St. Mary) 

Mathilde Duhesme ... 247 

,, Lady of Marigny 175 

Matthew Arnold's "Church of Brou " 286 

„ Bishop 68 

„ of Westminster 

Mavilly 248, 253, 255 

Maximilian d'Autriche 280 

,, of Italy 291 

Melchior Broederlam 204 

Melin 240 

Melun 164 

Mendes, Catulle 260 

Meursault 240 

Michael Angelo 190 

Milly, Comte de 103, 106 

Milly, Village of 107 

Mirebeau, Lord of 156 

Moleme, Forest and Abbey of ... 1 11, 112 

Monnoye, De la 260 

Montague Ste. Genevieve, Abelard at 146 

Montbard, Counts of 115 

Mont Beuvray (see Beuvray) 

Montceau 249 

Montecut 288 

Mont^gut, Emile ... 31, 49, 99, 123, 129 

Montereau, 191 ; Murder at Bridge of 202 

Montfaucon 249 

Monthelon 10 

Montjeu, Chateau de 47 

Montlheri, Battle of 206 

Morat, Battle of 206 

Moree, Prince de (Alexandre de 

Bourgogne) 242 



PAGE 

Morimond 117, 125 

Morvan 2 

Moses, Well of 100 

Motte Forte, Tour de la, Arnay-le-Duc 180 
Musee Lapidaire, Autun ... 43, 53 — 55 

,, Municipal, Autun 55 

Namours, Due de 105 

Nancy, Siege and Battle of ... 206, 207 
Nantoux, Valley and Gorge of 248, 252, 253 

Nantua, 272 — 275; Church of 275 

Napoleon Buonaparte 56, 57, 169 

Narthex, Purpose of 73 

,, of St. Philibert, Tournus 160, 161 
Nicolas Rolin 44) 53> 233, 236 

,, v.. Pope 242 

" Noce d'autrefois en Bourgogne" 266 — 270 

Nogent 150 

Noirmoutiers, Monastery of 162 

Notre Dame, Beaune 232 

Cluny 97 

,, Dijon 204, 210, 212, 220, 

242, 244 

Nuits 217, 2i8 

Odilon, Abbot of Cluny 65—67, 74, 163 
Odon, 64, 74 ; Legend of the Crumbs 64 
Olivier de la Marche (see La Marche) 

Orbandale 137 

Otellot, Wine 247 

Ouche, Valley of the ... 172 — 183, 215, 216 

Palace of Pope Gelase 86 

,, ,, the Dukes, Dijon 213 

Palais Abbatial, Cluny 89 

,, de Justice, Dijon 204, 215 

Palermo 67 

Pallet, Seigneur de 146 

,, Bourg du 14S 

Papillon, Canon 236 

Paraclet iSOj ^5^> ^53 

Paradin, Chronicler of Savoy 291 

Paray-le-Monial, 127 — 135; Hotel de 

Ville, 129; church 129 — 134 

Pascal II., Pope 70 

Paris, Massacre of the Armagnacs, 

200; famine 201 



300 



INDEX 



PAGE 

Patois, Burgundian 270, 271 

Perrault-Dabot 271 

Petit, Jean 199 

Philibert le Beau, Duke of Savoy, 281 

- — 284 ; death of, 284 ; tomb 290 

Philintus 146 

Philippe le Bon, Duke of Burgundy 

191, 203, 206, 218, 234, 244 
,, de Rouvre (see Philippe le 

Hardi) 

„ le Bel 89 

,, le Hardi 136, 184 — 190, 204, 

212, 217 
,, III., Kingof France 158 



PAGE 

205, 209 



Pot 


21C 


, 240— 


-246 


Pierre Damien 




80 


, 89 


,, de Chastellux 






88 


,, de Chandios 




IS4- 


-158 


,, de Couhard, La ... 


16, 


18, 29- 


-32 


,, de la Wivre, La 






6, 8 


,, le Venerable 75, 79, 


III, 


"75 






120, 146, 


152 


,, Jayet 






129 


,, Salvee, La 






9 


,, de Vasco 






153 


Pinot, Wine 






M7 


Pius VII., Pope 






146 


Planoise, Forest of 






20 


Pleurants 


191 


) 192, 


194 


Plombieres 




215. 


216 


Pochouse, La (national dish) 






266 


Poillot, Denis 






54 


Poirer aux Chiens 






4 


Pommard 






252 


Pons, Abbot of Cluny 






75 


Pont d'Ain, Chateau de 




283, 


284 


Pontigny, Abbey of 




ii7> 


125 


Porcheresse, Chateau de 






20 


Porch of Cathedral, Autun ... 




44 


45 


Porte d'Arroux 24, 


26, 


27, 29 


47 


,, des Marbres 




21 


28 


,, de Rome (See Porte des Marbres) 




,, St. Andoche 




24, 28 


29 


,, St. Andre 




24 


27 



Post OiEce, Dijon 

Pot, Philippe (see Philippe Pot) 
,, Rene 

Prat family (Lamartine) 

Prudhon 

Puits des Prophetes, Dijon 

Raoul Glaber 

Richelieu 

Rieux, Marechal de, 196; Hotel de 

Renee (Due d'Anjou, Duo de Bar, 
" Good King Renee ") 

Rene (Duke of Lorraine) 

Revonnat 

Robert I., Abbot of Cluny 

Robert, Abbot of Moleme (see St. Robert) 

Rochepot, Castle of 240 — 243 

Rolin, Cardinal 44, 53 

" Hotel 51—53 

„ Nicolas 44j 53' 233, 236 

Roman Buildings (see Autun) 

,, Column (see Cussy la Colonne) 

Romanesque Houses, Cluny 95 

Rouvres 123, 124, 217 

Rude 205 



242 

107 

99, 168 

... 189 

163 — 167 

106 

... 198 

213 

207 

... 277 

73 



127 

176 

i75> 176 

145. 165 

... 113 

204 



Sacre Coeur, Cult of 
Sainte Larme, Fontaine de 
(Holy Tear) 

Saint Agricole 

,, Alberic 

,, Antony, Temptation of 

,, Benigne de Dijon, Abbey of, 

163, 184; Cathedral 208, 209 

,, ,, Missionary 255 

,, Benedict, Rule of 76 — ^82 

,, Bernard, 83, 11, 150, 152, 216, 
takes the Cowl, 114; Legend 
of his birth, 115; His 
Austerities, 116; Appointed 
Abbot of Clairvaux, 117; 
His Character, 118; Corre- 
spondence with Pierre le 
Venerable, 120 — 122; Cup 
of, 204; Home of ... ai6, 217 



INDEX 



301 



PAGE 
203> 204 
... 63 



ISO 
163 

150 
4 



-4, 8 



258 



Saint Catherine, Martyrdom of 

„ Cecile 

,, Denis, Abbey of 149 

,, Germain d'Auxerre, Abbey of ... 

,, Gildas, Abbey of 

„ Hubert, Confraternity of 

,, Lazare, and Cathedral of (see 
Autun) 

J, Leger-sous-Beuvray i- 

,, Louis (see Louis IX.) 

,, Loup, Village of 

,, Marcel de Chalon 137, 140, 142, 

14s. 146, 152 

., Marcel, Eglise de, Cluny ... 97 

,, Marguerite, Abbey and 

Legend of 237 — 240 

„ Martha 41, 46, 43, 54 

,, Martial Chapel of, Cluny ... 88 

,, Martin, Abbey of, Autun ... 54 

6, 9, 255—257 

,, ,, Count of 

,, ,, de Tours, Tomb of 

,, ,, Legend of 

,, ,, Saut de 

,, „ Puits de 

„ Mayeul, Abbot of Cluny ... 

„ May 41 

„ Michael, Church of, Dijon 204 

,, Nicholas, Church of, Paray ... 

,, Odilon (see Odilon) 

,, Pierre, Macon 172 

,, Philibert, Tournus, 160 — 162 ; 

Dijon 1S5 

,, Point, Chateau and Village of 



... 219 
... 208 
255—257 
••• 253 
252—255 
-4 

43> 46, 54 
210 
129 



no 
io8 
109 

TOO 
20d. 



,, Church 

,, Guillaume de 

Remy, Provence 

Robert, in, 112; Cross of 
Stephen, Stoning of, 232 ; 

Chapel of, Cluny 88 

Symphorien 49 — 51 

Valerien i6i 

Victor, Village of 174 



Saint Vincent, Macon 

,, ,, Cathedral of, Chalon 

Sur-Sa 

,, Vulbas, Fontaine de 

Salamanca 

Salernes, Jean de 

Sambin, Hugues 

Sand, Georges 

Sandon, Lord of (Anthony de la 

Mar( 

Sarcy, Guillaume de 

Savigny 

Scheffer 

Sens, Council of 

Seyl, Lord of 

Sluter, Claus 192- 

" Snake-Skin " tiling 

Soissons, Council of 

Suran, The 

Tacitus 

Talant 

Tanneguy du Chatel 

Tavannes, Vicomte de 

Tebsima-Ben-Beka 

Tebsima, Legend of 

Teillage (Autumn FSte) 

Tescelin le Roux 

Tetricus 

Theatre of Ephesus 

,, ,, Roman (see Autun) 

,, ,, Smyrna 

Thermes, Palais des, Paris 

Thomas, Eden 

Touleur 

Toulongeon, the Herald 
„ Tristan de 

,, Claude 

Tour des Fromages 

,, de I'Eau Benite, Cluny 

,, de la Genetoie, 

,, de I'Horloge, Cluny ... 
,, du Logis du Roi (Tour 
Terrasse) Dijon ... 



PAGE 




172 


L- 

i6ne 


■58 




2S3 




281 




64 


204, 


210 




57 


che) 


156 




155 




237 




262 




152 




C56 


— 194> 


246 




210 




149 




272 


13. 32 


•, 35 




216 




2fi2 




263 


174- 


-177 


174- 


-177 




265 


"5. 


"7 


21, 28, 32 



36 
36 







8 






154 






155 






155 


87= 


i 99. 


100 
24 
87 


de 


la 






204, 


213 



302 



INDEX 



Tour du Moulin, Cluny 88 

„ des Ursulines 29 

Tournament of La Dame des Pleurs 

153—158 
5 J ,, the Tree of Charlemagne 217 

Tournoi (see Tournament) 

Tournus 99, 160 — 171 

Tramaye no 

Trempee, La 268 

Tres Valles (Three Valleys) 177 

Udalric ... 77, 80 



^5- 



Vallee d' Absinthe 

Valois, Duke of House of, 185; 

Madness of 203, 205 



Van Boghen, Lois de 
„ der Weyden, Roger 
,, Hemerren 

Varennes, Bernard de ... 

Vauchignon 

Vaudrey, Guillaume de 

Velours, Forest of 



... 285, 286 
100, 234, 236 
203 
82 
82 
220 
221 



Vercingetorix 

Verdun-sur-le-Doubs 

,, Seigneurs de 

Vergy, Castle of 

,, Maid of (see Marguerite) 

Verriere, La 

Vesentio, Road of 

Vespasian 

Vezeley 

Vienne, Sieurs de ... 

Violet-le-Duc ... 22, 24, 27, 131 

Vitruvius 

Voltaire 



PAGE 

15 

... 258, 262 — 264 

... 263 



238 



36 

i8 

42, 45 

... 263 

161, 234 

i6 

47 



Vulfrand 

Well of St. Martin 
Well of the Prophets 
Werve, Claus de ... . 
William L, of England 
Wines, qualities of 
Wivern 



137, 138, 142—144 



252- 


-255 


190, 


191 




89 




247 




9 



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